


You Will Leave a Mark

by brooklinegirl



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Bandom Reverse Big Bang, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-13
Updated: 2012-03-13
Packaged: 2017-11-01 21:47:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brooklinegirl/pseuds/brooklinegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for bandomreversebb 2012 , based on <a href="http://concinnity.dreamwidth.org/50856.html">this amazingly inspirational fanmix by concinnity.  </a></p>
<p>Summary: <i>Gerard is twenty-two, drunk, lonely, and really, really needs to get out of the basement. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	You Will Leave a Mark

**Author's Note:**

> concinnity put together the mix that inspired this fic. In the hustle to claim a mix, I scanned the track listing, saw that a lot of the songs were PRETTY DIRTY, and immediately thought "I can write a REALLY dirty fic with these!" and claimed it.
> 
> I spent the next two months listening to the mix. Not continually, of course, but always coming back to it, listening the lyrics, getting the fic centered in my head. And it was such an interesting process, how, sure, the songs are dirty, but there is this tone of desperation and despair underneath it all. Even "Elle Me Dit," which was absolutely the song I kept coming back to as I worked through how to write this fic, for all it sounds like a dance song, has a pretty grim tone to it - it's all about, to me, getting out there, DOING something, stop fading away, GET OUT OF THE BASEMENT, GWAY.
> 
> What I really loved about working from this mix is how the songs really did take me through the story. I hope that what I managed in some way lived up to what [info]concinnity wanted from it. It is, it turns out, incredibly difficult (for me, at least) to write a fic that lines up perfectly with a mix. I had the feel of it in my head, the flow of it from song to song, the themes, but getting the story to go exactly where the mix did wasn't something that I could make happen. The story kept curving around the direct lines from song to song, but I feel like the themes there fell into place like I thought they would.
> 
> As I wrote, I was enormously grateful to my mixer that the mix ended on such a note of love and forgiveness and relief from the struggles that came before. I am a happy-ending kind of girl, and concinnity's mix gave me that happy ending to write.
> 
> Even if the fic isn't your thing, I encourage you to download and listen to this mix. The songs are so great, and the through-line of the mix is really strong - concinnity definitely has a talent for telling a story through music. "Elle Me Dit" was my favorite of the mix, by far, but oh man, the PERFECTION of the segueway from "Wild in the Streets" to "Get Some --> Go Again" is SO DELIGHTFUL I CANNOT EVEN EXPRESS IT. And "In the Bathroom is Where I Want You" is one that stuck with me - it's a much sadder song than it sounds like.
> 
> "You Will Leave a Mark" was, obviously, the one that hit me hardest as the core of the story I ended up telling. I hesitated to lift the song title directly for the story title, but I came back to it again and again, and clearly, it was the one. I love this song, I love how, for me, it's the theme of the story, and I love how the song has a drive to it.
> 
> I feel incredibly lucky to have chosen the mix I did. ]concinnity did an amazing job on it, and she's been so sweet about my fic. I'm really glad I got to work on your mix, concinnity. It's pretty amazing. 
> 
> This story would not be what it is without the inestimable help of both mrsronweasley and shiningartifact. I feel incredibly lucky to have had them both as betas. mrsronweasley listened to me talk about this for weeks and weeks, got hooked on the mix the same way that I did, and edited the hell out of my very first draft. She is absolutely amazing and I am so, so thankful for her work on this.
> 
> shiningartifact stepped up as second beta and she not only went through this with a fine-toothed comb, finding and helping me fix every rough turn of phrase, every typo, every awkward moment, she was also able to step back and see the bigger picture of what I was trying to do with the story. Her help was the thing that guided me in making this fic what it is.

The club was too hot and too loud and Gerard was too drunk way too fucking soon. Shots of whiskey went to his head really fast, but he always remembered that too late. One shot was never enough, and a second shot never tasted any better than the first, but he did it anyway.

He made his way through the frenzied, shifting crowd. He didn't even know the band; he wasn't sure anyone here knew the band. No one seemed to be paying any attention to them except to use the beat of the drums as an excuse to careen into each other on what passed for a dance floor. 

It took forever to get the bartender to notice him, and he had to shout his order three times before he got it across. When the bartender finally shoved the shot and the beer across the bar and picked up Gerard's twenty like he was doing him a favor, Gerard was pretty much ready to fucking cry. 

He hated this. He _hated_ this. He could have bought a _bottle_ of whiskey for what he'd paid for these three shots. And he'd have been able to drink it in the basement, and be listening to Iron Maiden instead of whatever band this was. He'd be sad and alone, but at least no one else would know he was sad and alone.

Except for Mikey, who'd been dropping so many hints lately about how he never went out. And his grandmother, who hadn't been saying anything, just looking at him with her disappointed eyebrows. 

Which is why he was out here at this stupid club on a Sunday night, living his goddamn life. Whatever that was worth.

He downed his shot - by the third one, his mouth was used to the taste - and was licking the spilled whiskey off of his hand when he looked up and saw some dude watching him. He pulled his hand away and took a sip of beer like it was totally normal to be caught licking yourself in a public place. Whatever. How had this kid even gotten in here? He looked about seventeen, and he was staring at Gerard with a little grin on his face that made Gerard think of the assholes in high school who would shove him up against lockers as they went past.

It was so stupid. Gerard was twenty-two, and high school was long over. He shook his hair out of his face and took a long sip of his beer, staring at the guy over the bottle as he did so. Fucking bring it. He didn't care.

The kid was making his way over to him, pushing himself off the railing around the dance floor, a bottle of beer held loosely in his fingers. Gerard tensed his jaw, refusing to let his eyes drop. 

"Hey." The kid stopped right in front of him. Gerard wasn't a big dude, but this guy was shorter than him. He had a fauxhawk, dyed orange, and round cheeks, and seriously, whoa, the most perfect eyebrows Gerard had ever seen. 

Gerard took another slow sip of beer before saying, "Hey." 

The kid's grin got wider and when he leaned in closer, Gerard saw he was wearing eyeliner, which made his eyes look huge, and even more gorgeous with his perfect eyebrows. Why was some hot underage dude who was probably an asshole (except he was wearing eyeliner. Gerard was pretty sure assholes who beat up people for no reason didn't usually wear eyeliner) talking to him?

"Frank," the kid said, close enough that even though he said it softly, Gerard could hear it over the music, and feel his breath warm against his ear. 

Gerard just blinked again. He was clearly a champion at small talk. "Gerard," he said in response. Bar conversations were the weirdest. 

"That's a cool name." Frank flashed that grin again.

"Really," Gerard said flatly. It really, really wasn't. Seriously, why was this guy even talking to him? Gerard just wanted to go home. Or have another totally overpriced whiskey in his hand to help him get through whatever this conversation was. And _then_ go home. 

"Yes." The kid - Frank - said it like he was completely sure it really was. "What are you drinking?"

Gerard paused in the process of taking another sip of his clearly labeled Rolling Rock. "Beer," he said.

Frank grinned again. "Nah, I mean the other drink. That you were licking off your hand."

"Oh. Right. Jack." He could still taste it in his throat, stronger than the beer could wash down. After three, he always wanted more. 

Frank finished the beer in his hand with a series of long swallows. Gerard watched his throat work, then watched as he lowered the bottle and wiped the back of one hand over his mouth. 

Gerard had moved closer without meaning to. 

"I'm gonna go get us a couple more," Frank said, indicating the empty glass in Gerard's hand, and waggling his now-empty beer. 

Gerard moved his head in a nod. The bar was a little ways away, and if he edged around the crowd, he could easily be out the door before Frank even got the bartender's attention. 

Frank took a step towards the bar, then turned back to Gerard. He leaned in, one hand curled in the front of Gerard's denim jacket, tugging on it lightly. "Stay here," he said, close to Gerard's face. "Okay?"

Gerard had to swallow before he said, "Okay. Yeah."

Why. _Why_. He watched Frank walk away, his boxy hips swinging easily, too-loose jeans held up by a pink studded belt. Frank had to push himself up on his toes to lean forward over the bar and Gerard watched helplessly as the bartender came right over to Frank, leaning in and grinning as Frank ordered the drinks.

Gerard could see Frank grinning back from here. Even from the side, that smile was pretty compelling. Maybe that was how he had gotten in despite looking like complete jailbait.

" _Why_ ," he said - out loud, because he was a freak - and shut his eyes tight, banging his head back against the wall behind him a few times. 

He didn't _know_ why, but somehow he was still there when Frank returned, a glass in each hand and a bottle of beer tucked precariously against his chest with his forearm. "Okay," he said, nudging one of the glasses against the back of Gerard's hand until he blinked and took it. "So." He shifted the beer to his other hand. "Drink."

Gerard paused for a second, then did, throwing it back at the same time as Frank.

Frank made a scratchy, panting noise after he swallowed. "Ah, God, that's terrible stuff, fuck _me_." He coughed against the back of his hand, his eyes bright and watering a little.

"It gets better after a few," Gerard said. This was his third - no, wait, fourth. He barely tasted it by now. His tongue was kind of numb.

"It's a horrible drink," Frank coughed again. 

"It does the trick." Gerard shrugged.

Frank paused for a second, studying Gerard's face. "Drink," he said again, handing the beer to Gerard. 

Gerard took it and automatically took a long swallow, the beer cheap, but cold, and tasting so much fucking better than the whiskey had. 

Frank moved closer and took it out of his hand as he swallowed. "Now me," he said softly, taking a long sip. "Now," he said pulling the bottle away and setting it down on the table nearby. "This."

He was kissing Gerard before Gerard had a second to even blink, and fuck, the kid had balls. He tasted like smoke and whiskey, but his mouth was cool from the beer, and he was right up against Gerard, crowding him back against the wall and tilting up on his toes. Jesus Christ, he could kiss. He was fucking tiny, but Gerard felt pinned, caught up in it, and his hands had clenched in the back of Frank's t-shirt without his even realizing it. 

It had been a long time since he'd been kissed. "Fuck," he mumbled finally against Frank's mouth. "How fucking old are you, anyway?" 

"Old enough," Frank said, and Gerard pulled back. Jesus, was he even out of high school?

Frank rolled his eyes, not pulling away from Gerard. "Twenty," he said. "Almost."

Gerard groaned. " _Nineteen_ , fucking hell."

"Nineteen and a _half_ ," Frank corrected, and pushed his thigh between Gerard's legs. "How old are you?"

"Old enough," Gerard muttered into Frank's mouth dolefully.

Frank laughed breathlessly, pushing his hand into Gerard's and squeezing. "I like you," he said. "Let's go."

"Where?" he asked, but his question was lost in the din of music and people as Frank tugged him away from the wall and forged his way through the crowd. Gerard was pretty sure his hard-on was really fucking obvious and wished he hadn't worn such tight jeans. Frank - who was hard too, Gerard could testify, he'd felt it against his thigh - was bouncing through the crowd, apparently not caring about who he crashed into along the way.

Gerard supposed he should have guessed the men's room was where they'd end up. It was stark and seedy, like that was the rule. Overly well-lit, too, which was pretty terrible. Frank pushed through the door and somehow there was no one in there, they had it all to themselves. Frank headed directly to a stall, banging the door open with his hip and giving Gerard a cocky smile as he ducked inside. 

Gerard looked left, and then right, and he wasn't sure if he was looking for witnesses or, like, an umpire, before he scrubbed one hand through his hair and followed Frank in. 

Frank shoved the door shut behind him, and pushed Gerard up against it hard, his hips and his hands and his mouth pinning Gerard tightly. "Your mouth," Frank muttered, smearing the words against Gerard's lips, and it should have sounded like a cheesy line, it should have sounded hollow in the too-bright lights of the dirty bathroom, but it just sounded _good_. It sounded like Frank meant it, like maybe he'd just pulled Gerard here to kiss him, to make out like kids in high school.

Frank was kissing him intently, and Gerard couldn't help but kiss him back. Frank's body was hot up against his, his tongue in Gerard's mouth and he kept shoving his hips forward, the door to the stall creaking behind them.

"Fuck," Frank said breathlessly, dragging his mouth away from Gerard's. His lips were wet and red, and he looked - _happy_. Not panicked or desperate, but like this was somehow the best dirty hook-up sex he'd had in a dingy men's bathroom ever. 

Gerard's mouth twisted into a grin - he couldn't _help_ it - and Frank grinned right back, like he'd been waiting for it, like they were in on the joke together. "Come here," he said, softly, and his fingers were curled in the front of Gerard's jacket, tugging on the denim. 

Gerard leaned in helplessly, going for his mouth, but Frank was hauling him away from the door, and pressing him up against the wall instead. They were in a corner stall, so that was the club wall behind them, solid and cool. "Less creaking," Frank explained, grinning harder as he slid to his knees.

"I don't -" Gerard started.

" _I_ do." Frank had Gerard's belt undone, his jeans and briefs shoved down, quick as anything. Quick like he did this a lot.

Gerard wanted to close his eyes, lean his head back, pretend that he did this a lot too, that he was used to getting his pants tugged down in a flimsy bathroom stall and - "Oh fuck, oh _fuck_." 

Frank had his hand around Gerard's dick, hot and tight, and his eyes fluttered closed as he leaned in, licking the head of it, hot and wet and not enough, not nearly enough. "Jesus." Gerard's hand was in Frank's hair, and his hips weren't up against the wall anymore, he had shoved them forward, his dick deep in Frank's mouth. And maybe Frank was a small guy, but he was taking it all, groaning softly. 

"Oh fuck, Jesus, you're good, you're so fucking good." Gerard shoved one hand over his mouth, but he couldn't shut himself up, couldn't cut himself off. "Fuck, I want – “

Frank let Gerard slide out of his mouth, but kept jacking him off with one hand slipping easily over Gerard's dick, looking up at him from the bathroom floor. "What?" he asked, like he was genuinely curious. "What do you want?"

Gerard pushed off the wall behind him in the narrow stall, reaching his arms out to brace himself against the dividing wall, his dick right up in Frank's face. 

"Oh," Frank said, sounding fucking _delighted_. " _Fuck_ , yeah, do it."

Gerard was drunk, and breathless, and so fucking hard he couldn't even think. Frank was on his knees, eyes closed, mouth open, ready for it. When Gerard pushed his dick into Frank's mouth, Frank made a low moaning noise in the back of his throat, and Gerard groaned, and they were being way too loud and he did not fucking _care_. He braced himself on the wall, let his hips thrust forward, hard. 

Frank moaned, and Gerard did it again, and again, fucking his mouth. Frank was just _taking_ it, letting his hands drop loosely to his thighs, opening up and swallowing Gerard down. 

Gerard's hands were pressed hard against the wall and he moved his hips forward unsteadily. Frank's mouth was hot and wet, open so wide. Gerard was panting down at him, his head dropped between his arms, couldn't stop watching as Frank sucked him, his eyelashes dark against his cheeks, looking so fucking young and pretty and flushed that Gerard just wanted - he just wanted - "Fuck, stop, you're - I'm - " He tried to stop his hips, tried to pull back, groaning deep in his throat because he just wanted so bad to - " _Fuck_." 

He pulled out, pushed himself back, biting his lip hard. Oh Christ, he was so fucking close, he couldn't even breathe or slow down or do anything except wrap his hand around his dick and jerk himself off, hard and fast. He stared down at Frank, who had pushed himself back on his knees and was watching Gerard with his mouth open. Gerard bit back a groan and came, spilling out onto Frank's chest, his entire body shaking with it, Jesus Christ, so fucking _good_. 

By the time Gerard managed to take in a shaky breath and slowly unwrap his fingers from around his dick, Frank was pushing himself up off his knees, getting right up in Gerard's space. His face was flushed and he was looking at Gerard, his eyes hot. Gerard didn't have his breath back, and neither did Frank, panting in Gerard's face as he undid his jeans with hands that Gerard could feel shaking as they bumped against his stomach. His mouth looked red and used, and he didn't seem to care that his t-shirt was spattered with come, that Gerard's hand on his hip was sticky. He just leaned in and pressed his lips against Gerard's, a closed-mouth kiss, soft and long, as he jerked himself off, murmuring, "You - you - you just -" right up against Gerard's mouth before he shuddered and came all over Gerard's hip, hot against the bare skin there, Gerard's jeans still halfway down. 

Frank sank against him, his head nestled on Gerard's shoulder, like they were cuddling. Standing up. With their junk out in a public men's room. 

It was weird. 

Gerard knew it was weird, but he didn't care. He was still shaky, and Frank was a small, warm weight against him, and Gerard just braced his feet on the sticky floor and tried to catch his breath, his face against Frank's head.

When they pulled apart - or, okay, when Frank pulled away from Gerard - they were both a mess. Pants down around their thighs, come smeared all over their shirts and stomachs. 

"Jesus, that was so fucking good." Frank was hauling up his jeans and grinning. His cheeks were still flushed, and it made him look even younger. 

"You do this a lot?" Gerard asked as he tucked himself away, smoothing down his t-shirt. The stall somehow seemed even smaller than before. He looked up and Frank was just staring at him. "Oh God, I didn't mean to call you a slut or anything. I just -" Gerard ran a hand through his hair, trying to get his brain back online. "I don't do this a lot." He blew out his breath. "Obviously."

Frank held the stare for a second before cracking up. "Obviously." His giggle was high-pitched and really fucking cute. "It's okay, dude. And no," he added. "I don't do this a lot, not really. Just when really hot guys show up and brood in the corner."

Brood. He _had_ kind of been brooding. Gerard smiled, looking down.

"I like a challenge." Frank shrugged. "Okay. Well. Gerard." He held out his hand, and Gerard just blinked down at it, because - who did that? Who - what - 

"Kidding." Frank grinned harder. "Thanks, man." He paused. "See you around?"

"I. Uh. Maybe." Gerard shrugged, his face getting hot. He had no idea how to play it cool. 

Frank looked at him for a long second. "Okay." He ducked in close, kissing Gerard on the mouth for a handful of seconds, steady and warm. "Okay."

He slipped out the door, and Gerard was left leaning there, his fingers against his lips like a heroine in a fucking Austen novel, because - who did that? Who kissed so sweet like that, after a hook-up? Who the fuck was this kid?

***

Monday mornings sucked. Monday mornings when he had stumbled in drunk at two AM and the alarm went off at six-thirty just like it did every fucking weekday morning (regardless of Gerard's drinking habits) sucked even harder. 

He leaned very carefully against the kitchen counter - his head did not want him moving even a little bit - and watched as the coffee dripped really fucking slowly into the pot, willing it with all of his heart to brew faster. Thank fucking God his grandma had a habit of setting up the coffee maker the night before - it had saved Gerard's life more than once.

Elena came in to the kitchen as Gerard was trying to decide if the half-inch on the bottom would be enough for a cup. He looked up at her. "Morning," he said wearily.

"Good morning, Gerard," she said, nudging him aside so she could reach for a mug.

He shifted carefully, and his head exploded a little bit. He was concentrating on just breathing in and out through his mouth when Elena stopped and looked at him. "Why are you wearing sunglasses?"

"Got home late," he mumbled, and hopefully held out his own mug, which he had been clutching to his chest. Elena filled hers first, then sighed, and filled his as well.

Gerard stumbled to the table. He wanted to put his head down, but he wanted to drink his coffee more. He settled for propping his head up carefully on his hand while he drank. 

He could smell himself. His hair smelled like whiskey. It made his stomach roll over.

Elena settled down across from him and lit a cigarette. The snap of the lighter seemed awfully loud. "Did you have a nice night?"

Gerard shrugged. "I went out."

"I can see that." She smoked quietly for a minute. The smell of the smoke made his stomach even more unhappy, even as it made him want one of his own real bad. He took the sunglasses off, tossed them on the table. His head throbbed from the sunlight piercing into his brain. She was watching him, and she looked sad.

"What?" he said tiredly. "What? Mikey's been telling me to go out, so I went out. Okay? I went out, and I met someone, and we -" Hooked up. "Hit it off." He scrubbed his hands over his face hard enough that he saw stars. "I did it, okay? What do you want from me?" He dropped his hands heavily into his lap. 

She didn't say anything for a minute, just took another sip of coffee, then another drag of her cigarette. "I want you to be happy," she finally said, quietly. 

He stared across the table at her. In the sunlight flooding in the kitchen windows, her skin looked almost translucent. 

"Who did you meet?" she asked then, like asking about a hook-up was a completely normal conversation to be having with your grandson.

"His name is Frank," he told his coffee cup. "He -" Gerard stopped, because, well, fuck. He knew literally _nothing_ about Frank other than that he was pretty, and short, and really good at sucking cock. "He seemed nice," he finished weakly, glancing up at her.

Elena was just looking at him, and it wasn't pity, exactly, in her eyes, but more like understanding. Like she knew exactly what had happened last night, and exactly how sad it was that that was the best Gerard had to offer.

He sat back in his chair and buried his face in his coffee again. "Fuck," he sighed. "I gotta get to work." He took a moment to gather himself. 

"Gerard, listen to me." Elena got to her feet and came over, reaching for his hands and tugging him to his feet. He felt like a kid again, like when he was six and she would dance with him in the living room. She held his hands, her skin warm and dry like paper. "I want you to be happy. I want you to _be_ something. I think you could be something _great_. You have it in you. I know you do." She pushed him back a little, studying him with her head tilted back, like he was a piece of art, and then moved his sweaty whiskey hair out of his eyes. "But you won't find it at the bottom of a bottle. Or moping alone in the basement." She pulled him forward into a hug. "I love you, kid."

He rested his cheek against the soft fabric of her bathrobe and shut his eyes tight against the light. 

***

Getting out of the basement had not been _boring_ , but Gerard didn't want to try it again. It was better - or, at least, easier - to go back to the way things were, the way things had been since he'd graduated. Commuting to the city, working at Cartoon Network, and yeah, he was lucky to have a job like that, at a place like that. He knew he was lucky. Which was why he got up each morning and spent every day tracing lines that other people drew; why he stood at the copier, staring at the wall, while the machine spit out pages he was too bored to even look at. 

He'd only been doing this for six months, and it felt like forever. 

He'd been so excited his first few days there, had thought every part of this was a peek behind the scenes at the way real people lived, real _artists_ lived. And, well, it _was_. Even real artists got stuck making copies of memos that had to do with budget approvals for upcoming projects, and real artists sat in cubicles where they couldn't even see over the beige half-walls built up around them, and most of the work was tracing lines that someone else had created. 

And even real artists had to remember to clean out the coffee pot at the end of the day before if they wanted coffee right away the next day.

Gerard stared at the crusted-over remains of yesterday's coffee and sighed. This was, he thought, what despair felt like. He grabbed the pot, and headed to the kitchenette down the hall, hitting the "on" button on the copier as he went past, so it would be warmed up by the time he came back. There was a pile of memos, with various colored sticky notes on them, stacked on his desk, waiting to be copied, and collated, and distributed. The sound of the copier wheezing to life made Gerard's head hurt. 

Coffee. Coffee first. 

He stared down blankly as he held the coffee pot under the faucet to fill it. He’d thought this job was a foot in the door, but now he was _stuck_ in the door. Working nine to five, just a cog in the corporate machine, just as much as he would have been if he'd landed a job at an accounting firm or something. He was so low on the totem pole that tracing lines and making copies was pretty much what he did all day long, until it was time to get on the train with the other drones, too tired to do anything but turn his headphones up loud and stare out the window at the dusk, then trudge home to lie down in his basement and slowly fade away. 

He jerked a little bit, as the hot water poured over the top of the coffee pot onto his hand. "Fuck." He scrubbed his damp hands over his face, then back through his hair, pushing it out of his face. "Fucking fuck," he sighed again, and then shuffled back to the dreaded copier, coffee pot in hand. 

Caffeine. Copies. Cubicles. Jesus fucking Christ, he needed a drink. 

***

So the thing was, he had Frank's number. 

He'd made an idiot of himself chasing Frank out of the men's room the night they'd hooked up, shouldering his way through the club to reach out and catch him by the arm. Frank had looked surprised, but had just grinned before grabbing Gerard's phone and programming in the number.

Gerard had been left clutching his phone and staring as Frank disappeared into the crowd. Then he had shaken his head, muttered, "Idiot," to himself, and had gone to the bar to have two more shots before heading out. 

He was almost sure he had texted Frank later that night.

He was also almost sure he had said something about Frank's pretty mouth. And then deleted the sent messages in drunken horror as if that would somehow take them back.

So the thing was, he could call Frank at any time. Or text, even. But Gerard made his way through most of a six-pack deciding that that was a bad idea. He wasn't going to do it, because, okay, Frank hadn't responded to the text about his mouth that Gerard may or may not have sent, so really, what was the point?

The point was maybe that it was the weekend again, and he had shuffled in the house after work Friday night, and Elena had tilted her head at him as he went by, but not said anything. Maybe the point was that he had to keep trying. 

Gerard hated that point. Fuck. _Fuck_. 

He texted Frank. What the fuck did he have to lose. So he took out his phone and typed _hey, what’s up? It’s gerard. From last week. In the bathroom._ and hit send before he had to think about it too much. 

His phone vibrated and he jumped a mile, and dropped it on the bed, then scrambled to hit the button.

_My band is playing at Hartleys tonite. Doors at 9._

Gerard stared down at the phone. He had no idea what to do with this. Frank had a _band_? 

_whats ur last name? I'll put u on the list. come down?_

Maybe Frank didn't get Gerard's deep-seated need for not leaving his basement. But then, Frank had met Gerard at a club, blown Gerard at a club, and come all over Gerard at a club. Maybe this somehow gave him the idea that Gerard was a club sort of guy.

Gerard wasn't a club sort of guy. But he texted back his last name, so Frank could put it on the list, apparently. He'd never had his name on the list before. 

"I don't even know where this place is," Gerard said anxiously, showing the text to Mikey.

"I know it." Of course he did. "It's only over in Kearny. You can catch a bus. You can't miss it."

"Ugh." Gerard selected a pair of jeans from the cleanish laundry pile on the floor. 

"What's his band, anyway?" Mikey asked, shoving Gerard's pillow further up against the headboard and flipping through Gerard's sketchbook. 

"Pencey Prep." Gerard had looked it up on the club's site, while he was trying to figure out how to get there. He paused from hopping around, trying to haul the jeans up over his hips, looked at Mikey hopefully.

"Oh, I know Pencey." Mikey turned another page. 

Gerard waited. 

"I love this zombie," Mikey commented. "When did you do this?"

"Last week," Gerard said impatiently. "You know Pencey? And the zombie is Frank."

"Yeah, they're pretty good." Mikey tilted the page a little. "He's cute."

"Should I go?" he asked Mikey anxiously, as he tugged his jacket on. Were his jeans too tight? He was pretty sure his jeans were too tight.

"You should go," Mikey said firmly, and pushed him out the door.

***

Gerard found the club, and his name was, in fact, on the list. He slipped in past the bouncer, feeling like he'd gotten away with something. 

He'd thought the six-pack from earlier would be enough to get him started, but he'd sobered up on the bus ride over - fuck, he felt like he'd sobered up just from the jolt of adrenaline from deciding to _show up_. The place was pretty full - not packed like it would be for a real name show, but full enough for a Friday night and a band that Gerard had never heard Mikey mention. Gerard decided to stick with beer, and managed to fight his way through the crowd at the bar. He clutched the beer against his chest, his fingers freezing against the glass of the bottle, and took a breath, making himself move forward through the crowd. He didn't want to get in what was clearly going to be the pit, but he wanted a good view of the stage. 

He managed to claim a spot along the railing lining the floor, where he could look over the teeming mass of people, just in time for the lights to go down. He felt dizzy for a second, not even knowing where to look, and when he blinked and managed to focus his eyes, that was - that was Frank, center stage. Grabbing the mic. Frank was the _frontman_. His fauxhawk was bright orange under the stage lights and he sneered at the crowd as he hauled the mic down to his face, and Gerard gripped the railing in front of him, staring, waiting.

When the music came up, it was - not what Gerard had expected. A lot of keyboards. And Frank was thrashing the mic around on stage, but he was a different sort of singer than Gerard had expected. Not that he knew Frank very well, or, like, at _all_ , but he was almost certain that this song Frank was singing was the _very definition_ of emo. 

Not that there was anything wrong with that, but - wow. 

Frank was wearing this green t-shirt that hugged his chest, and his eyebrows were still pretty fucking perfect, and his face, creased with emotion as he howled into the mic, just sort of _did_ something to Gerard. He forgot everything around him - forgot how much he hated people bumping up against him, forgot to finish his beer, forgot how tightly his hand was clutched around the railing until his fingers ached when he let go to clap at the very end.

Jesus, Frank up there was just - mind-blowing. Watching how he worked the crowd, seeing the fierce _satisfaction_ in his face when he stomped to the edge of the stage to sing his lyrics into the mic, leaning forward into the crowd - he looked lit up, turned on, _alive_. Gerard felt dazed, thinking about it, thinking about what it must be like to feel like that, to be plugged in to an audience like that. 

He wasn't sure what to do after the band went off stage. His beer was warm, but he drank it anyway, hovering awkwardly with one eye on what he had figured out was the stage door. He'd edged back to the bar to get another one, his head swiveling back and forth between the bartender and the stage door, when he finally spotted the Frank in the crowd. 

He lifted an arm in a wave, and Frank turned towards him and headed his way. Gerard turned back to the bartender. "Two," he said, putting two fingers up as well, and shoving cash across the bar.

Gerard turned around, beers in hand, trying to line up the words in his head for what he wanted to say about Frank's music. Frank was heading his way, and he was grinning wide, his chin up, shouldering his way through the crowd. 

"I didn't think you'd show!" He was breathless, sweaty, and grinning, and Gerard's heart was in his fucking throat. 

"I -" He had to stop, take a quick sip of beer, before he could say. "You have a _band_."

"I have a band!" Frank said, grinning harder. 

"Oh!" Gerard shoved his hand forward, holding out the other beer. "This is for you."

"Hey, thanks," Frank said, making a pleased face, and taking a gulp. "I'm glad you came out."

"You put my name on the list." It came out more shy than Gerard had meant it to, but Frank leaned in close, like he was about to say something. 

"Frank!" A tough-looking dude came up and grabbed Frank, hauling him up in the air and then dropping him back to the ground.

Gerard reached forward, like he could stop him or something, but - oh. Frank was laughing, as he stumbled to keep his feet. 

"Frank, come _on_ , would you," the guy said, and hauled Frank away.

Frank let him, craning back to look at Gerard and calling over his shoulder, "I'll be right back!"

Gerard raised one hand halfway to say okay, but Frank was already out of sight in the crowd. 

The headlining band came on to a roar, and Gerard sank back against the wall nearby, trying to get out of the way as the crowd rushed towards the stage. He got up on his toes for a second but couldn't see any sign of Frank. He pulled his phone out and flipped through his messages a few times just to look like he was _doing_ something. After the third time, he rolled his eyes, shoved the phone back into his pocket, and just stared blankly at the stage. 

The minutes ticked slowly by and still no Frank, and finally he just thought, fuck this. He finished his beer, swallowing it down even though it tasted warm and terrible, just to get rid of it. If he got rid of it, he could go. He patted his pockets down, pulled out a cigarette so he'd be ready as soon as he hit the fresh air, and left. 

He stopped just outside the club, lit up and took a deep drag, blowing the smoke towards the sky and trying to focus on the clouds. It was fucking cold out - March in Jersey was frigid and never-ending - but it felt good after the too-warm closeness of the club. Gerard stood there for a few minutes, smoking and trying to just breathe and talk himself out of being disappointed, when he heard the hoot of raucous laughter down the block, turned his head to look and, oh, of fucking course. Frank and his buddies were outside the stage door, smoking and shoving each other. 

Gerard took two soft steps back but Frank looked up just as Gerard half-turned away. 

Frank's eyes narrowed, like he knew Gerard was about to bolt, and Gerard stopped awkwardly, trying to pretend that he had just been standing here, smoking. 

Frank called something over his shoulder at his friends, and jogged over to Gerard. 

"Who's the new girlfriend, Frankie?" someone from the group jeered from behind him.

Gerard felt his shoulders tighten, even though it shouldn't matter, didn't matter. None of this fucking mattered. 

"Where are you going?" Frank took a drag off the cigarette in his hand, and blew the smoke backwards and up through the side of his mouth. He was wearing a leather jacket, and it made him look tough. And hot.

Gerard shrugged, dropping his cigarette and crushing it out with the toe of his boot.

"I was about to come look for you." Frank's eye was swollen, like he'd taken a good hit somewhere along the way, one of the times he'd thrown himself into the crowd, maybe. The skin was getting tight already, like it might swell shut before morning. He looked like a thug. He wasn't grinning, not like before. He looked almost mean, this way - rough and a little dangerous.

Gerard shrugged again. He had his hands deep in his jeans pockets - stupid tight jeans that he'd dug around his bedroom floor to find, because he'd thought they looked good. 

More catcalls came from the group of Frank's friends and they were moving closer. Gerard should just - he thought he'd just -

"Hey." Frank was right up in his space - again - and he had one hand curled in Gerard's jacket, even as he grinned back over his shoulder and yelled something at the group of guys. 

This wasn't Gerard's scene. Fuck, Gerard was in so far over his head - he just wanted to _go_. He edged back, and Frank swiveled back around, following him. "What?" Gerard demanded.

Frank's eyes were warm and his friends were watching and Gerard didn't like this. He felt hot inside, and pissed off. He wished he'd never come out tonight, never come out last week. 

He took a breath, looked over Frank's shoulder at his friends milling on the street behind them. They looked like thugs. _Frank_ looked like a thug. Gerard rolled his shoulders and looked at Frank, who was looking back at him, his face confused, his hand still curled loosely in Gerard's jacket. Gerard let one hip drop, and tossed his head, getting his hair out of his face before smoothing it back with one limp hand. Fuck it. "What?" he asked, going for bored, for been there, done that. 

Frank blinked, eyebrows up, and his hand curled tighter, knuckles pressing up against Gerard's stomach. Gerard just rolled his eyes and slouched some more. 

Frank's mouth was open a little, and he looked a little confused. "What's going on?" He said it slowly, and he moved forward. "What do you want?"

Jesus Christ, this kid didn't get it. Gerard wrapped his hand over Frank's fist in his jacket.

Frank grinned, then flinched as Gerard dug his fingernails in. 

"For you to fuck off," Gerard said. 

"You're here, though." Frank took another step forward, and they were back against a wall now, the cement rough against Gerard's back. "You came."

"I was bored." Gerard shrugged. "I'm still bored."

Frank's eyes flashed and his friends were ambling past them on the street right now, going, "Frankie! Frankie, come on, Frankie, let's _go_." 

"Fuck off!" Frank called back over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off of Gerard. 

Gerard studied the neon sign of the tattoo parlor across the street like it was the most interesting thing in the world. The voices of Frank's buddies were fading as they headed back into the club, and Frank was still here, still very close to Gerard's face. "Don't you need to go?" Gerard asked tightly. 

"I'm busy," Frank said, and kissed him. 

Gerard was going to shove him away, wipe his mouth and spit and go the fuck home. But Frank had him pinned in place, one hand sliding around to the back of his neck, the other one wide and warm against his side, somehow having slipped up under his t-shirt without Gerard even noticing. Frank's tongue was in his mouth, and when Gerard finally managed to jerk away, Frank just looked at him and slid his fingers into the waist of Gerard's jeans. 

"Still bored?" His eyes were really dark, intent.

Gerard managed a nod. 

"Huh." Frank tilted his head. "We gotta work on that."

Gerard was going to go. He was going to go home. He was. He was so tired of this, so tired of everyone else having it easy, knowing what to do, how to act, how to get what they wanted, when he never did. Frank was grinning in front of him like this was a joke, and something inside him just _snapped_.

Gerard shoved Frank away from him, and the smile fell off Frank's face. Good. _Good_. Gerard shoved him again, and Frank's eyes went wide, then angry, and Gerard didn't care. He pushed at him, like they were fighting, and Frank's hands were up, fisted, but when Gerard shoved him again, it was into the alley next to the club. It was dark, and stupid, and dirty, and dangerous, and Gerard _didn't care_. 

He shoved Frank hard up against the wall, and Frank caught himself, then spun around like he was going to fight. Gerard wanted to hit him, wanted to punch him, wanted him to not be a jerk, wanted to be somebody different himself, someone who wasn't shoving around a punk nineteen year old in an alley. 

Instead, he kissed Frank, rough and biting, and it hurt, and it felt good. Frank shoved up against him hard, like he liked it, and Gerard pulled back, panting, and dropped down on his knees. 

"What are you -" Frank gasped for breath, barely getting the words out. "Why are you _doing_ this, what are you -"

Gerard looked up at him. "I don't fucking know," he said honestly, and undid Frank's belt. 

Frank was quiet the whole time his cock was in Gerard's mouth, but he'd been hard as a rock from the second Gerard opened his jeans, and just got harder once Gerard sucked him in. It wasn't the best head Gerard had ever given - he was distracted, opening his eyes to look up, to watch, as Frank pushed his head back against the wall, teeth sunk into his lip, sucking in air through his nose. 

He had his hands fisted on either side, and his hips kept jerking forward, and fuck it, Gerard wanted him to give it up, wanted to _hear_ him, wanted him to just _lose it_. 

Gerard's jaw ached in the best possible way, his mouth stretched wide, his knees scraping against the gravel as he dragged himself forward, taking Frank in deep, deeper, sucking in air through his nose and relaxing his throat, until Frank cried out above him, too loud, and Gerard thought dimly, _take that, motherfucker_.

Which was fucked up, he was pretty sure. He pulled off, wrapping one hand around Frank and jacking him off, slick and fast, as he sank back and looked up at him. "

Frank rocked his head back and forth against the brick, clenching his hands on Gerard's shoulders. He was making short whimpering sounds in his throat, like he couldn't quite speak. "Please," he ground out finally, "Please, please, I -"

Gerard wanted to watch, almost more than he wanted to suck. Frank's face was desperate, sweaty, wrung-out, and Gerard wanted to see him fucking come. Frank was thrusting his hips forward, his hands so tight on Gerard's shoulders, and he was panting out, "Your - mouth, fuck, fuck you, your - _mouth_ , please, please -"

Gerard gave Frank his mouth. He sucked him in deep and clenched his hands around Frank's hips, feeling the skin, soft and warm even in the cool of the alley, give under his touch. 

Gerard had the head of Frank's dick in his mouth, sucking him as he wrapped one shaking hand around his shaft. He jerked him off hard and fast and he knew it was just right from how Frank was shaking so hard, cursing high-pitched, muffled but there. 

Frank warned him only by how his voice got frantic, and quiet, and in how his hips jerked forward, but Gerard felt in sync with him, knew it was coming. He knew he should pull off, but he didn't, just clenched one hand on Frank's hip and took it as Frank's hips twisted and oh God, oh yeah, he was coming down Gerard's throat and it was exactly what Gerard wanted.

"Fucking -" Frank slumped back against the wall. He dropped his hand down to pet vaguely at Gerard's face, and Gerard pushed his cheek against Frank's hand, which was damp with spit. Fuck, had Frank been biting his own hand to try to keep quiet? Jesus Christ, that got Gerard going so fucking hard. 

Gerard panted up at him as Frank continued to murmur, "Jesus fucking cocksucking Christ." He said it all soft and wondrous, like he was spilling his heart out to Gerard in this alley. "You fucking -" He stopped, gulping for breath, and Gerard pressed one hand against the front of his jeans, where he was rock fucking hard, had been for a while. Nothing had mattered but the shift and thrust of Frank's dick in his throat, but now, though, Jesus, he could get off to this.

He leaned in, forehead braced against the warm skin of Frank's hip, undoing his belt and button and zipper with shaking hands, tugging his dick out. "Frank," he said. Frank's name sounded weird in his mouth, and he bit the soft skin where his fingers had been digging in.

"Ngh." Frank was still panting for breath.

"Frank." Gerard tried it again, and it sounded better this time. "Frankie." He tilted his head up, peering at Frank through the hair in his eyes. Frank looked wild and confused. "Keep talking," he said softly. "I - your voice."

Gerard had his hand wrapped around his dick, and he wanted to come so bad, the sound of Frank's voice driving him forward, Jesus, this wasn't going to take long. 

"What the fuck?" Frank panted, like he was actually asking the question. "What the fucking, fucking - Gerard, God, Jesus _Christ_." He stopped, gulping in a breath, his hands tight on Gerard's shoulders. "On your knees in an alley like a fucking whore, sucking me, Jesus _Christ_ , I can't even - ah, _ah_ , fuck, your teeth are fucking sharp!"

Gerard licked the spot where his teeth had dug into Frank’s hip, and jerked himself off harder, faster, fingers circled around the head of his cock. He was so fucking close, dizzy with it, shaking hard, and his knees were aching, and he was so fucking turned on he thought he might die.

Frank moved his hand to tangle it in Gerard's hair - maybe to keep him from biting again - and Gerard froze for a second, then jerked his head back, so Frank pulled his hair hard and tight. Gerard stared up at Frank as his orgasm fucking pulsed through him, shaking him hard and fucking him up as he shot all over his hand and the concrete under his knees. 

"Jesus cocksucking Christ." Frank said it again, softly. His hand was still tangled in Gerard's hair and Gerard couldn't catch his breath. He couldn't focus on anything but his own heart beating and Frank staring down at him. "Jesus. Gerard -"

Frank tugged his hand out of Gerard's hair, and moved it to the side of his face, touching him sort of _tenderly_. Which was weird, when Gerard's knees hurt so bad and his feet were pretty much numb and his mouth felt used and raw. 

"We should -" Gerard said slowly.

"Fuck." Frank shook his head, looking up and down the alley, like he was only just now realizing that they were in public. The street wasn't very far away at all, and they'd just been fucking _lucky_ , and thank fuck it was a cloudy night. 

Gerard got to his feet, slow and shaky, his knees aching. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, and he couldn't make himself look at Frank. He'd acted kind of slutty, and like an asshole, and he was just gonna pull himself together and get the fuck out of here, fast. 

Frank didn't seem to get any of that, though. The second Gerard got himself tucked away, Frank was kissing him, soft and intent, touching his hair and his face like he was a heroine in a movie.

"Sorry," Gerard gasped, turning his head so he could talk. "Sorry, I was being an asshole, sorry -"

"I like assholes," Frank said, and it came out breathless and serious. He still had his hands on Gerard's face, trying to keep kissing him.

"I think your friends are dicks," Gerard explained, then gasped as Frank apparently gave up on kissing, instead leaning in to mouth at Gerard's neck. 

"They kind of are." Frank's voice was muffled, and his mouth was so fucking warm against Gerard's neck that his sore knees sagged. 

"I don't even know you," Gerard kept going. "You're nineteen. This is so fucking dumb. I want to go home. I miss my basement."

"I'm just Frank," Frank said breathlessly. "Nineteen means stamina. I don't fucking care. Take me home. I wanna see your basement."

It was the best offer Gerard had had in a long time. He pulled back, looking at Frank. Frank's eyes were wide, and interested, and a little bemused. "Are you kind of a dick, too?"

Frank bit his lip, smiling. "I am kind of a dick," he said. "Sometimes." He leaned up and kissed Gerard, hard and warm.

"I liked your band," Gerard managed when he pulled back. "Let's go."

"Sweet," Frank said. "I'm freezing." He followed Gerard out of the alley.

***

 

They got back to Gerard's parents' place, and thank God, no one was awake. Gerard brought Frank down to the basement - he had no idea what kind of shape it was in, he didn't even remember how it had been when he left, but when he peeked in cautiously with Frank hovering behind him on the stairs, it wasn't too bad - layers of clothes and paper and books and bags on the floor, but no food or plates or old beverages moldering in their glasses. So, clean.

Frank didn't seem to think it was dirty, either. Frank liked Gerard's movie collection, and he liked Gerard's comic book collection, and he liked Gerard's action figures, and he liked Gerard's mouth. Frank spent a while looking through Gerard's stuff and letting Gerard talk, and talk, and when Frank finally interrupted his endless talking by pushing him back onto the unmade bed, Gerard didn't mind one bit.

Frank liked kissing. Frank really, really liked kissing. He held Gerard down in the pile of lumpy blankets, and it was soft and sweet at first, like Gerard hadn't just blown him in a dirty alley a couple of hours ago, then hard and filthy, _exactly_ like Gerard had blown him in a dirty alley a couple of hours ago.

When he finally pulled back, his face was flushed and his lips were red. Gerard said, "Sorry, sorry, I talk too much," and Frank just breathed, "I like it," and went back to kissing him soundly, like he was trying to lick the taste out of Gerard's mouth, suck it off of his tongue.

Frank went from kissing him to moving his mouth down Gerard's neck, sucking at the skin there and making Gerard's toes curl.

"Do you want a drink?" Gerard panted out, his hands tight on Frank's waist. "I think I have vodka." 

"Yeah, yes, cool," Frank said distractedly, and pushed him down again. He slid between his legs and tugged his jeans open, shoving them down and blowing him fast and hot and so fucking good before Gerard could take another breath. 

Gerard sank his fingers into the comforter, tried to keep his hips still so he wouldn't just fuck his way into Frank's mouth, but when Frank lifted his head and looked at Gerard over his hard dick, his lips were swollen, and he said, "Please, fucking just - _please_." 

Gerard made a truly embarrassing sound, and sank his fingers into Frank's hair, lifted his hips, and fucked Frank's mouth, shoving himself up, and up, and _up_ , coming in about ninety seconds, groaning like he was dying.

Frank crawled up over Gerard where he was lying, spent, limp, fucking _gone_. "Hi," he said brightly, running two fingers lightly over his own mouth, and moving his jaw like it was the good kind of sore. "You said vodka. Where? I'll get it, it's okay, no need to be a gentleman." 

He waved Gerard off, clambering off of him when Gerard pointed weakly towards the bookshelf. "Behind the Dante," he managed, and watched Frank root around. "And I just came down your fucking throat," he pointed out. "I kinda think that's not very gentlemanly."

Frank turned around, clutching the bottle by the neck triumphantly. Gerard watched as he glanced around the room for a cup, and not finding one, shrugged and swigged down a shot, coughing as it went down. "Augh, it's warm." 

"Sorry," Gerard said sheepishly. It was always a problem, because there was no fridge in the basement. Warm vodka was like death in your mouth.

Frank shook his head, grinning, and took another sip. He was in the middle of Gerard's messy room, hair standing up in ridiculous, messy spikes, mouth rubbed raw by Gerard's dick, sporting a serious fucking hard-on in his jeans. His Suicidal Tendencies t-shirt was half-tucked in, the knees of his jeans were torn out, and he was the hottest thing Gerard had ever seen in his motherfucking life.

"Gimme that vodka," he said limply from where he was sprawled on the bed with his jeans still open.

Frank grinned at him, and handed it over. 

***

"You never said you were in a band," Gerard said mumbled against his pillow. He felt drunk and loose and happy.

"You never asked," Frank shrugged, stretching his legs out and wiggling his feet - Gerard could feel the covers shifting, the cool basement air getting in. 

"Your mouth was full," Gerard said, giggling even before he got the words out, and Frank cracked up beside him, helplessly. 

Frank curled up beside him and told him about his band. They were new-ish, and he didn't know how it was gonna go, he wasn't sure, but - "I'm in school," he said, playing with Gerard's sheets, fanning them out between his hands. "I don't think I'm going anywhere, there, you know?" He peered up at Gerard in the dark, his expression drunk, serious, young. "I feel like I'm going somewhere, with the music thing."

"You are," Gerard said, believing it.

Frank nudged at him, rolling his eyes. "You're just saying that."

"No," Gerard said. "I saw you tonight, on stage." He was quiet for a second, thinking. The energy on stage, how Frank threw himself into the music, and how he talked about it now. "Your energy, your - connection, with the crowd. It's something, it really is."

Frank's face was gazing up at him from his pillow in the dim light of his bedroom. "You think so?" Frank asked. "I think so, too. I can feel it." He was quiet again. "I feel like I'm wasting my fucking time at school."

"Maybe," Gerard said, shifting a little on the bed, tugging Frank closer. 

"I want to do this, for real." Frank lifted his head again. His jaw was solid, determined. 

"You can," Gerard said softly. "You should."

It was very quiet for a handful of seconds, as Frank just looked at Gerard. "Awesome. You should explain that to my mom," he said finally, and the two of them dissolved into giggles again on the bed.

***

When they woke up, it was Saturday afternoon, and Frank made no move to go. No one came down to the basement, and Gerard crept upstairs for food, Coke, and things to mix the vodka with later on. 

"Movie day?" he asked, after plying Frank with hastily assembled PB&Js and sodas.

"Movie day," Frank agreed.

They started with _Fright Night_ , and then moved on to _The Goonies_. That was Frank's choice - he called it “an American classic” - and he got comfortable to watch it, curling up next to Gerard on the bed. They sipped vodka mixed with the cranberry juice Gerard had unearthed from the fridge.

Frank made comments throughout the movie, but had his timing down perfectly - he'd cut himself off in the middle of a sentence when something important was happening on screen, and he didn't mind of Gerard interrupted him.

Also he cuddled when Gerard tugged his blankets up over them. Frank kept shifting against him, and his hair smelled really good, and Gerard couldn't keep his hands away from his hips, or from where Frank's belly pushed out a little bit over the waist of his jeans, soft and warm. Frank kept touching Gerard, too, his hand high up on Gerard's leg, his breath warm against Gerard's chest through his t-shirt. 

Gerard made it to the end of the movie - because it was a fucking awesome movie, and you had to have some _respect_ \- before scooting back, pushing Frank down to the bed, and kissing him. "Fuck, Frank, you're killing me." Gerard was a little bit drunk and incredibly fucking turned on, and Frank's mouth tasted sweet, like vodka, and like Frank. "It's really fucking weird to have a boner during the Goonies," he said breathlessly. 

Frank giggled and twined one leg around Gerard to haul him down. "Not exactly something I've ever experienced before, either," he said, and pushed his hips up, his hard dick pressing against Gerard's. "But I say we just go with it."

Gerard whimpered. "God," he said helplessly. "I want - I just want -"

"What?" Frank asked softly, still looking up at him.

The look on Frank's face was turning him on even harder - it was a mix of excitement and nervousness, and he didn't look like the cool guy at the club from last night. He looked like a thug, but he looked like a thug _kid_ , and he was in Gerard's bed, and Gerard wanted to do _everything_ to him. He wanted to fuck him, so bad, and wanted to be fucked by him even worse. He bit his own lip hard so he didn't spill out everything he was thinking - he wanted Frank to hold him down, press his face to the mattress, leave bruises on his hips, his thighs. 

Instead, he just swallowed and said, "I want - God, can I take this off?" He tugged at the hem of Frank's shirt.

"Okay," Frank said instantly, sitting up and yanking it off over his head. He had an armband tattoo - Gerard had seen that, a bit, under the edge of his t-shirt, but he could see now that there were words on it - _Loyalty_ , and something else - it wrapped all the way around. The more Gerard looked, the more he saw - Frank was scattered with them - he had tattoos on his wrists, his chest, his arms. 

Gerard was _fascinated_. "You've got a lot of ink," he said dumbly.

Frank nodded, grinning. "There'll be more, when I can afford it."

Frank was flushed, all the way down his chest and Gerard needed a brain transplant, or psychotherapy, or _something_ , because he was so fucking gone for this guy he couldn't even take it. It was just a stupid crush, he told himself sternly. Then he leaned in and licked the black flame inked high on Frank's chest, because he couldn't help it.

"Fuck." Frank had his fingers in Gerard's hair. "Fuck, Gerard, who _are_ you?"

"Weird," Gerard confessed, looking up. "I know, but just -" He shook his head, and tugged Frank back on top of him. 

Frank just smiled, wide and real, and kissed him again, soft this time. "I like you," he said. His voice was low and intense, and Gerard smiled against Frank's mouth.

"I know," he replied. "I can feel it against my hip."

Frank giggled and Gerard rolled him back down to the bed, kissing him and tugging at his jeans. Frank was so fucking into it, and Gerard could hardly breathe, feeling Frank under him, shoving his hips up, panting against his mouth, _wanting_ it. Gerard wanted to see him, so bad, but he almost didn't even manage to get his jeans off, lost focus when they were halfway down his thighs and Frank's cock - hard and hot - was right there, and Jesus, he just wanted his mouth back on it, wanted to _feel_ it, wanted to -

"Fuck," Frank gasped, and pushed Gerard back a little. "Fuck, get your pants off, Jesus Christ." 

"Yeah, fucking - _yeah_." Gerard leaned back, straddling Frank, and struggled with his belt, his button. Every fucking thing he was trying to do feeling like rocket science, like he needed a fucking degree to get his dick out. 

Frank laughed up at him, and hauled him back down as soon as his dick cleared his jeans. Gerard panted helplessly against Frank's mouth, and both of them shoved at Gerard's jeans, kissing messy and rough at the same time as they edged them down, finally low enough for Gerard to kick them off.

"Fuck," Gerard said against Frank's mouth. Fuck, he wanted to bite his jaw, lick his face, fucking just taste him all over. "Fuck, Jesus, I wanna suck you off, wanna get you going so hard you can't even think -"

"You are," Frank twisted his hips under him, and oh fuck, oh yeah, their dicks slid together and it was good, so fucking _good_. "I can't." He sounded breathless and fucking gone, his cheek against Gerard's pillow, his eyes shut, his mouth open and wet, as he shoved his hips up against Gerard.

Gerard made a whimpering sound, grinding back down against him. "I can't - I - _can't_ -"

"Wait." Frank pushed up against him one more time, with hips and hands, but Gerard couldn't stop the slide of his dick against Frank's. "Wait, I want to -" Frank stopped, panting, and finally managed, "I want to see, c'mon -"

Gerard sat up again, straddling Frank's hips. His dick was so fucking hard, and he had his hand wrapped around it before he could feel weird about it, fucking _needed_ to have his hand on it. He jerked himself off, and Frank watched, his mouth open and fucking pornographic. Frank had his hands on Gerard's hips, keeping him close, and his eyes kept flickering back and forth between Gerard's face, and Gerard's hand on his dick.

Somewhere in the back of Gerard's dizzy brain, he knew that this should feel silly or embarrassing, but right here, right now, it was just so fucking _hot_ he could barely fucking keep control. 

"Fuck," Frank breathed out, his hips moving a little bit under Gerard. "Fuck, _look_ at you, you're -"

"What," Gerard panted. He was really going at it, couldn't fucking stop, so turned on and excited and _close_. "Frank, fuck, gotta -" He tried to pull back, tried to stop, slowing his hand on his dick. 

Frank moved his hips again, restlessly, like he couldn't help it, just wanted _more_. "Don't stop," Frank said, like he could barely get the words out. "Jesus, don't stop, fucking come. Okay? I want to see it. I want to _see_ it."

Gerard's mouth was moving, but he couldn't speak, could only moan, and fall forward a little, bracing one hand on Frank's chest where it was flushed and damp with sweat. "I'm - yeah, fuck, I'm -" His hand was moving so fast, and he was so close, he was fucking dripping onto Frank's stomach, and he wanted to see, too, he wanted to see - "Fuck, I'm -" He came, orgasm jerking through him, shaking him to the core. He was being too loud, and he bit his lip, but oh God, oh fuck, it was so good, so fucking - fucking - _good_.

He'd closed his eyes and when he managed to open them, his hand still clutching his spent dick, Frank was panting up at him, Gerard's come spattering his belly.

"That was -" Frank said, shoving his hips up, trying to push Gerard back. "That was so fucking -"

"Dirty," Gerard managed, sliding over onto his back.

"Awesome," Frank said. "I've gotta - oh, fuck, I gotta -"

"Here," Gerard said sleepily, shoving his pillow up under his head and letting his mouth drop open.

"Oh, fuck, yeah," Frank breathed, and scrambled up over him.

Gerard held on to Frank's thighs while Frank fucked his mouth, and there was nothing better than this - Frank's muscles flexing under his arms, Frank's moans as he pushed himself frantically into Gerard's mouth, Frank's hand fisted tight in Gerard's hair like he needed to ground himself. 

Frank thrust in hard and fast, and Gerard took it all, until Frank gasped, and slowed, and came, his hand curled firmly in Gerard's hair, his dick heavy, twitching against Gerard's tongue as he shook hard, moaning almost silently in the back of his throat. 

They stayed like that for what felt like a long time before Frank took a deep breath, and then another. Finally, he loosened his hold on Gerard's hair and slid his dick out of Gerard's mouth.

"Fuck," he said, sounding shaken. "Fuck _me_."

"Fuck _yeah_ ," Gerard echoed, his voice coming out rough and used, and Frank laughed out loud, and tumbled down beside him on the bed.

***

Gerard woke up with his feet freezing, the too-bright sunlight filtering in around the sheet he had pinned over his low basement window. His head kind of hurt, and when he shifted, his body ached with that specific feel of having gotten spectacularly laid - his thighs were stretched and sore and his mouth felt raw and used, and he loved it.

He blinked his eyes open, groaning softly and pushing the blankets down just a little. He heard the sound of his parents upstairs, and that was Mikey's voice, telling some story. He worked harder on focusing his eyes, and turned over, but - the bed was empty. His room was empty. It was - he looked at the clock - almost noon, and Frank was gone, and he hadn't even heard, he hadn't even noticed, he - 

He pushed himself to sitting, too quick, then slumped back down. Everything hurt more when he moved, and the room was too bright, and the muted sound of a chair being pushed back upstairs cut through Gerard's skull. He blinked at the ceiling for probably too long before he rolled over again and fumbled for his cell phone. Not on his bedside table. 

He heaved himself forward a little more and closed one eye to peer at the floor. Not beside his bed, either. His jeans were - he looked around, and realized he had no fucking clue where his jeans were and he couldn't actually remember taking them off. He sagged back down on the bed, pressing his hands against his eyes.

"Fuck," he mumbled to himself, and reached out blindly to get his cigarettes off the bedside table.

He smoked, slowly, watching the wispy tendrils curl up towards the low ceiling. 

His room felt echoingly empty, and he was logy and slow, not even really sure how he felt or what he wanted to do. He put on _Empire_ to fill up the space with sound, but he didn't really watch it, just lay there curled up in layers of clothes and blankets. 

He'd been going to call Frank, he _had_ been. Only his phone was dead when he finally crawled over and unearthed it from one of the piles of clothes on the floor, and his charger was nowhere to be seen. He left the dead phone there and finally pulled on some pants and made his way upstairs to find Mikey. Maybe he could borrow his phone, only - he didn't know Frank's number from memory. 

Gerard skirted through the kitchen quick as he could, not wanting to run into Elena.

"I think that it was just a hook-up," he confessed against Mikey's shoulder, where he'd crawled into bed next to him. Mikey had made a cave out of the bottom bunk of what used to be their shared beds, before Gerard had moved to the basement, tucking blankets around all four sides. It was darker in here than in Gerard's room, even, and Mikey had shifted over willingly enough when Gerard pushed the blankets aside and climbed in. "That's all it was," Gerard said again, because that was probably right. Frank had left, so. 

Mikey was silent for a little while, and Gerard tilted his head up to see his face in the dim gray light filtering through the blankets. "I don't know, Gee," Mikey said finally. "He stayed over, right? Two nights?"

"He left, though." Gerard shrugged like it didn't matter.

"This morning, you said." Mikey shifted his bony shoulder under Gerard's cheek, and Gerard tucked himself closer against Mikey's side.

"I think so," he said. "It was pretty late, after." 

"Still," Mikey said. "He stayed. Mostly hook-ups don't stay."

Gerard didn't say anything, until Mikey nudged the top of his head with his chin. 

"I know," he said then, only he didn't, because he didn't have hook-ups. "I know, only." He shut his eyes for a few minutes, and Mikey just lay quietly next to him, letting him think. "He's nineteen," Gerard said finally. "He's nineteen, and he's really tough, and really pretty, and really cool."

Mikey nudged his head with his chin again. "And he stayed."

"I don't think it was like that." He hadn't even left a note. "I think it was just a hook-up."

"Did he call you?" 

Gerard was silent.

"Is your phone dead?"

Gerard pressed his face against Mikey's shoulder.

"C'mon." Mikey pushed at him. "My charger will work. Where's your phone?"

"I don't know," Gerard said unhappily, as Mikey prodded at him until he slid out of bed, pushing the blankets out of his way. "I don't want to know." 

Mikey made an annoyed sound and Gerard shot him a look over his shoulder. "No, it's just - it's just like, I don't know, Schrodinger's phone call, until I find it, you know?"

Mikey's mouth twitched up. "Schrodinger's phone call, huh?"

"You know what I mean." 

"Eternal hope, I know." Mikey nudged his shoulder, and steered him towards the door. "Let's go find out if the cat is dead or not, yeah?"

"Yeah," Gerard said, doubtfully, and let Mikey guide him down the stairs.

***

They finally unearthed the phone, and Mikey plugged it in, checking Gerard's messages while Gerard hunted around for the bottle of good rum he was certain was stashed in the behind the D&D manuals, for emergency use only. 

Gerard watched Mikey's face as he groped around for the bottle, and he knew there wasn't a message, even before Mikey snapped the phone shut. "Maybe you were right about the hook-up thing," he said, sounding sad.

Gerard shrugged and screwed the top off of the rum, taking a quick slug before taking a breath and looking around for a sort-of clean glass. "Hey," he said, shrugging again. "It was an excellent hook-up, at least."

"At least," Mikey echoed quietly, and Gerard shrugged again, because he couldn't fucking stop doing that, and held out the rum.

Mikey took it, but he just stood there, holding it loosely in his hand as Gerard sat down on the bed and pulled his feet up under him. "Why is he so important," Mikey asked, "if it was just a hook-up?"

Gerard stared up at him. "I - it's hard to explain."

"Is it just that Frank is really cute, and you're - really lonely?" 

He said it kindly, and Gerard had to blink back tears before he answered. "Sort of," he said miserably. "I mean. Yes."

Mikey blinked at him for a second before he said, "Okay. I can see that." He climbed onto the bed and put his arm around Gerard's shoulder, resting his head on Gerard's and holding him tight. 

***

Frank called on Tuesday - like, called, not texted, and Gerard saw his name on the screen and threw the phone at the foot of his bed, like it had burned him. The stubborn voicemail indicator popped up at the bottom of his screen, but he didn't listen to it. 

"Schrodinger's voicemail?" Mikey asked when he saw Gerard staring at his phone the next night.

Gerard nodded glumly. 

"Want me to listen to it?" 

Gerard shook his head, but pushed the phone into Mikey's hand about thirty seconds later.

Mikey hit the voicemail button and listened. "He wants you to call him." He shrugged. "That's all he said, but he said it nice."

Gerard shook his head miserably. "He left without saying goodbye," he said. "There wasn't even a note."

Mikey moved his jaw a little bit, like he did when he didn't want to tell Gerard he was being dumb. "He's nineteen," Mikey said. "Cut him some slack."

"Ugh," Gerard said, and put his head on Mikey's shoulder.

***

Frank called again on Thursday, and Gerard had been steeling himself, so he was ready for it. "Hey," he said when he picked up the phone, like he was all chill, like the line of Frank's jaw wasn't filling the last five pages of his sketchbook.

"Hey!" Frank sounded happy, and there was a lot of noise in the background. "What are you doing tonight?"

Gerard hated that question. He didn't want to say "nothing" and get roped into something terrible. Why wouldn't you just _ask_ what you wanted to ask? It made him tense and twitchy. "Why?" he asked, stiffly.

"Oh." Frank sounded a little surprised, but recovered. "I'm just - out, and bored, and wanted to see if you wanted to come out, have a beer?"

Gerard wanted to come out and have a beer. He wanted to see Frank. He wanted to _rub himself all over_ Frank. He wanted to tell Frank all of those things. But then he thought about how Mikey always said you weren't supposed to make yourself too available, and how Frank had hooked up with him and then left him, and he opened his mouth to say no. 

"Yeah, okay," was what came out.

"Cool," Frank said, softly, so quiet that Gerard almost didn't hear him over the background noise filtering through the phone. 

***

Frank was at a bar. Gerard hated meeting up with people at bars - going in alone, peering through the crowd, having people stare back at him, it all just _sucked_. 

And how the hell did Frank keep getting into bars, anyway, when he was nineteen, but looked _fifteen_. Gerard would _really_ like to know that.

The place was crowded when he got there, and he didn't see Frank. He made his way to the bar, still looking around, and ordered himself a shot of whiskey before fumbling his phone out of his pocket to text Frank, _here! at the bar. left side._ He put in and erased a smiley three times before hitting send. 

He shoved the phone back in his pocket and did the shot real quick. Fuck, he hated bars. Everyone was shoving up against him, but he held his place, and got the bartender's attention again, and got another shot immediately, to chase the taste of the first.

He was feeling okay, the shots finally hitting, by the time Frank found him through the crowd, just sort of appeared at his side. He was smaller than Gerard had been remembering, but his smile was just the same. "I missed you," Frank said in his ear, pushed up against his side at the bar, closer than he needed to be. 

Gerard's heart kicked up a notch, but he just smiled, shrugged, and ordered another shot. Frank said he missed him, but that didn't always mean what you maybe thought it meant. Gerard could play this cool.

And he did. He played it cool through drinking shots at the bar, while Frank sat real close and whisper-shouted into his ear over the throbbing music. It was a college bar - everyone here was young, and no one seemed to care or notice how close they sat, how Frank's hand kept landing high up on Gerard's thigh, how Gerard couldn't stop leaning in to press his face against Frank - laughing against his shoulder, smelling his hair, sweet and clean, as he whispered in his ear. 

Gerard could barely hear Frank over the music and had to lean in to hear him say, "Busy week. Band practice," and then Frank wrapped his hand in Gerard's jacket, hauled him even closer to breathe, "Kept thinking about you." 

Gerard's face was already flushed from the heat of the bar, but it got hotter, his cheeks felt like they were flaming. He grinned, and swung around so he was facing Frank on his bar stool, one of his legs in between Frank's. He leaned forward on Frank's thighs, the denim stretched tight, warm under Gerard's hands. "Yeah?" he said, which was barely a line, barely anything, but he was biting back all the words tumbling through his head, trying to keep it together. "Buy me another shot, and tell me about it." 

Frank grinned, and did. They did another shot together, and what Frank leaned in to tell him was filthy, from the words Gerard picked up as he leaned in even closer, desperate to hear more. 

They did another shot - maybe two? - too many, at least, because he didn't really remember how they ended up outside, Frank's mouth hot as he licked his way up Gerard's neck, sucking on it like he was doing a body shot. They were up against the front window of the bar and they were making idiots of themselves, and Gerard felt twisted up inside, even as Frank pressed his lips, still so fucking hot, to the side of his mouth.

"Fuck me," Gerard said up against Frank's mouth. "Frank. You should fuck me. I want you to fuck me."

Frank giggled, then pulled back a little, his eyes going a little wide. "Oh. You're serious. I - oh." He bit his lip, his dick still so fucking hard against Gerard's thigh. "I've never - I mean, I'm not, like, _in_ experienced, but I haven't really -" 

"Never?" Gerard said, but he couldn't help shoving his hips forward as he said it. Christ, he wanted it. "Seriously?"

Frank's face was flushed, and he was rolling his eyes, but he said, "You're not going to freak out, right? I'm not, like, _virginal_ , I've just never - done _that_."

"Oh." Gerard shook his head, trying to focus. Trying really hard. Probably failing. "I don't want to, I mean, you know." He stopped, tried again. "I'm not, like, _pressuring_ you or anything, I just -"

Frank bit his lip, looking at Gerard for a second, before leaning in and dragging Gerard down by his arms around his neck. "Shut up," he breathed all hot into Gerard's ear. "Fuck, yeah, I fucking - God, yeah, I want to." 

"You want to?" Gerard's heart was beating so fucking hard. 

Frank laughed, bright and loud. "Let's go, we have to _go_ before I do it right here."

"Yeah," Gerard said, his heart pounding really hard. "Yeah, let's -" He stopped, because he definitely slurred the "let's," but Frank hadn't noticed, Frank had been too busy stumbling to the curb and flagging a cab. 

Gerard didn't really remember the cab ride - it was a blur of kissing and Frank's hands all over him, and he remembered being really insistent about something to do with Frank's hips, remembered, kind of, trying to get Frank to climb on top of him right there in the backseat, in front of God, the cabdriver, and everyone. Frank kept giggling, saying, "Wait, motherfucker, wait, we're almost there -"

They were at Gerard's place, something Gerard didn't really realize until he followed Frank, stumbling, out of the cab. He didn't remember giving the cab driver the address, but here they were, so he must have. He dropped his keys twice as he tried to get them in the lock, and Frank was snorting laughter behind him, pressing up against him, his fingers rough and freezing as he slid them under Gerard's jacket and along his sides. 

"Come on," Frank was whispering, hot against his ear. "Come _on_ , Jesus. Fuck, I’ve been thinking about you all _day_."

Gerard got the door open and said, "Shh, fuck, my parents, fuck."

"Sorry." Frank was slurring too, just a little, and his mouth, when he stumbled forward and kissed Gerard, tasted hot and alcoholic, like Gerard could get drunk on it. Maybe _was_ getting drunk on it. More drunk. 

"All day?" Gerard asked breathlessly as he eased the door shut as quietly as he could, squinting one eye shut so he could turn the lock slowly.

Frank pushed him up against the door, his dick rock hard against Gerard. "All day," he said, kissing him hot, and wet. "All fucking _week_ , Jesus, I want to _fuck_ you."

"Downstairs," Gerard managed. "C'mon, we -"

He remembered going downstairs, and he remembered whispering to Frank, "The door, lock the door, lock the _door_ ," which Frank did.

He remembered kissing Frank, and how fucking hot it was, how fucking hard and desperate Frank was against him, and the way Frank looked when he laughed against his chest as they both fumbled to try to get their clothes off on the bed.

He didn't _quite_ remember the moment when everything in his body went from "Wow, I'm really drunk and this is really awesome," to "Oh fuck, gonna puke," but he knew it happened fast. 

It must have shown on his face, because Frank pulled back, went, "Uh-oh," and Gerard was up and off the bed the next moment, Frank hauling him to the bathroom which was, thank God, just off his room in the basement, and Gerard went skidding to his knees next to the toilet just in time.

He didn't remember a whole lot for a while after that, which was probably the best possible thing, because when his brain - still drunk, still swimmy - came back online, he had his forehead against the toilet seat and he was moaning a little bit, completely involuntarily. He rolled his head to one side, and something tugged on his hair a little. 

"Hey," he heard, and oh. Oh God, Frank was right beside him, on his knees on Gerard's dirty bathroom floor. He was holding Gerard's hair back, and when Gerard blinked to clear his eyes a little, he saw Frank watching him with concern.

"Oh God." Gerard turned his head back down and closed his eyes again. His head was still spinning and his face was hot, and he wanted to die. Maybe he could die. That would be a good thing. 

"It's okay." Through his spinning, drunken haze, he heard Frank _laughing_. "It happens to the best of us."

Frank's hand was cool and clumsy against Gerard's forehead, then Gerard heard, "You'll be okay for a sec?" 

He wasn't sure if he nodded or not, but his hair fell forward against his face as Frank pulled away, so he must have. An hour later - or maybe a minute, but it felt like an hour - something cool was pressed against his forehead, and he moaned quietly, and pushed into it. 

"Hey." It was Frank's voice, and he was nudging Gerard, pulling him away from the toilet. Gerard's stomach wasn't too sure about the situation, but Gerard let himself be propped up against the wall. Frank was cleaning him up with a facecloth, sponging off his face, and talking to him softly.

Oh, this was kind of embarrassing, and Gerard was sure this was going to be _horribly_ embarrassing in the morning when he was sober, but for right now, the wet coolness of the washcloth felt really good against his face. 

"Here." Frank was pushing a glass of water into Gerard's hand, and helping him drink from it, and oh God, yeah, this was horrible, but Jesus Christ, water had never tasted this good. 

Gerard looked at Frank, who looked pretty much just as hot curled up on dirty bathroom tiles as he did curled up on Gerard's bed. "Sorry," he managed. "I just -"

"Yeah," Frank said, the corner of his mouth going up. "I know how it works." Frank was, even to Gerard's blurry eyes, clearly drunk himself, to be curling up next to Gerard on the floor. 

"I'm sorry," Gerard repeated, and tried to push himself up, but oh, oh God, his stomach wasn't ready to leave the bathroom yet. He scrambled back to the toilet, and dry-heaved until his abs ached. 

Frank held his hair back the whole time, and talked the whole time, too, muttering something about - music, Gerard thought, talking about the Misfits and Morrissey and Gerard didn't know what else, but it was distracting, at least. 

After Gerard slumped back again, sweating and panting, Frank sat back with him, pulling Gerard's head down against his shoulder. Gerard shuddered, suddenly freezing against the tiles, exhausted and worn-out, and Frank just sat there with him, like he knew Gerard couldn't quite move yet, no matter how cold and hard the floor was underneath them both. 

Frank was holding him close, still talking about - new wave punk and British rock culture, Gerard thought. It was comforting, and Frank's shoulder was warm under his cheek, and Gerard's stomach was still uneasy, but he thought he'd just close his eyes for a second. 

***

He woke up in his bed, his face smashed flat against the pillow, and he felt rode hard and put away wet. Not in the good way.

Opening his eyes seemed like a lot of work, so he kept them closed for as long as he took a slow inventory. He was in bed. It smelled like _his_ bed. He was clothed, he thought. A quick exploratory hand confirmed jeans and hoodie, so yes. His mouth tasted like something died, and then decomposed, and then took away all water on planet _Earth_ with it. He took a long time deciding whether to reach out an arm to see if anyone was in bed with him, then an even longer time to decide whether to open his eyes first or not.

He pushed himself up, and then immediately rolled over, moaning, then holy fucking God, stopped all movement ever and froze there, with one arm trapped under him, breathing through his mouth desperately and slowly, trying very, very hard not to puke.

He didn't. But it was close. 

There was no one in bed beside him, when he did manage to open one eye, and the sun through his curtains had reached the land-speeder on his Tatooine set-up on the floor, which meant it was after two. 

Gerard was really, really tired of waking up and Frank being gone.

Everything hurt and he was ready to trade his first-born child for glass of Coke, and he was pretty sure - fairly sure - no, he was _really fucking sure_ he was going to want to take his own life once the rest of his memory came back online. Bits and pieces were already filtering in and more than one involved puking and oh God.

Oh God.

Why did he ever leave the house. Why. _Why_. 

Things were bad. It was bad. Oh God. He might puke. Again. He spent a few really anxious minutes panting into his pillow but managed not to throw up.

When Mikey made his way down a few hours later, Gerard was awake, but trying really, really hard not to be. His bed smelled like smoke and sweat and just a little bit like puke. He'd stumbled upstairs a while ago to rummage in the fridge, coming back down with two sodas and a cup of coffee cradled against his chest. The coffee was cold, on his bedside table - he wanted it, but the smell was making his stomach turn over, and his mouth was a desert. Both sodas were long gone, and when he heard Mikey's boots on the stairs, he mumbled against the pillow, "Oh God, Mikey, please, get me a soda?"

There was a clink of metal against Gerard's bedside table, because Mikey had already done it, because Mikey was the best brother ever. Gerard reached out blindly for it, trying to keep the covers over his head, and his eyes shut, and to _not think_ about last night.

"So you had a fun night." Mikey's voice was dry as he curled up at the foot of Gerard's bed.

"Uh-huh." Gerard wasn't going to tell anyone, _ever_ , about what he had done last night. It was too humiliating, too awful, and Frank was gone, and would never, ever speak to him again, and Gerard was pretty much a failure as a human being. He was just going to say _nothing_ and move on with his life.

"What did you do?" Mikey's toes were pushing up against Gerard's feet through the covers.

"Frank called and we got really drunk and came back here to hook up, and it was going to be his first time, but instead I puked." Gerard pushed himself up a little and peered at Mikey over the edge of the covers. "I don't think I puked on him, but - he definitely saw it."

"Sucks," Mikey said sympathetically. "Wait, Frank's a virgin? I thought he hooked up with you in a bathroom stall."

"Not that kind of virgin," Gerard explained miserably. "He'd just never fucked anyone before. Or been fucked." Gerard stopped, thought about it. "I guess." He moaned, quietly. "I was gonna be his first time."

"That really sucks," Mikey said again. 

"It does." Gerard flopped back down, and stared at the ceiling. "I think he held my hair."

"That's a good sign." Mikey nudged him with his feet.

"He came over here to hook up with me, and I threw up," Gerard pointed out, again. 

"Well." Mikey paused. "I didn't say it was the _best_ date in the world."

Mikey hung out with Gerard while he moaned and hid his face under the covers, because he was a good brother. 

Frank didn't call that day. 

Gerard didn't remember Frank leaving - he didn't remember how he got from the bathroom to his bed. He kept getting this flashes of things that had happened last night - the feel of the cool porcelain of the toilet under his hands, oh God, and Frank's quiet voice echoing off the tiles in the bathroom, and him sagging his head down against Frank's shoulder.

Frank had been _nice_ last night. He'd held his hair, and he'd talked about music, and he'd apparently helped him to bed. Why did he always _leave_? And not leave a _note_? What _was_ that? 

***

Gerard spent the next week not sleeping much at all. He got up, he dragged himself to work, he got through it, he came home, and he painted. He'd dug a half-finished canvas out of the corner of his room, and something about it clicked, and he threw himself into it. He was good, here. He was safe, here. He didn't go upstairs. He didn't charge his phone. He didn't want to know if he had any messages. 

Frank had just left. He always _left_ , and Gerard couldn't do this anymore, it was fucking him up worse than he had been before. He just - let it all go, and kept moving. It wasn't any better or any worse - he was just right back where he started. He still had a shitty job that he hated, and he had his basement, and that was that. 

Work wasn't great. Work was pretty fucking bad, actually. It really hit him one morning, as he stared down at the toner cartridge in his hand, and at the screen on the copier telling him how to install it. He couldn't make sense of any of it. The screen was walking him through it step by step, and it was like hieroglyphics or something, he couldn't even get his eyes to focus. It took him forever to get the old cartridge out, and when he went to wedge the new toner in, he turned it the wrong way and it puffed out a black cloud all over his shirt.

He looked down, grimly clutching the cartridge. Great. Really - just great. 

When he finally got it in and stepped back, his hands were black with toner. He held them out in front of him, even though his shirt was already ruined, and trudged towards the bathroom. 

"Oh honey." The secretary outside his boss's office was studying him as he went past. "You can pull that off with tape, if you're real careful. Hang on, stay still, don't touch it."

Gerard froze, obediently, holding his hands out from his body, as the secretary - he thought her name was Dottie - came at him with a strip of packing tape between her hands. She patted it against his shirt, pulling it off slowly, and huh, the toner totally came with it. She did it a couple more times, chatting the whole time, but he wasn't really listening.

"There," she said, stepping back and beaming. "You're in the clear."

Gerard peered down at his shirt, which was basically cleaner than it had been before the toner incident, then back up at Dottie. "Thanks," he said. "That was nice of you."

"Oh, honey," she said, squeezing his arm. "You're a good boy."

He half-smiled at her, and went to wash his hands.

***

On Thursday, Gerard sucked a guy off in the bathroom of the club Frank's band was playing at that night. 

He didn't even know the guy. He didn't even _like_ the guy. And he'd only known about the show because Mikey told him, and he didn't think this was what Mikey had meant for him to do with the information. 

He'd left the house already half-loaded and popped an Ativan on top of that. By the time he'd hit the club, he was feeling pretty good and he wasn't looking for Frank. He was looking for anyone _but_ Frank. 

He didn't even have to try that hard, was the really funny thing. He went to buy himself a shot, and by the time he turned around with it in his hand, this flamboyant hipster dude was pretty much right up in his business. Thick-framed glasses, scarf twirled around his neck, dick encased in the skinniest of jeans.

The music was loud tonight, too loud to talk over, which worked perfectly fucking well for Gerard. He shrugged at whatever the hipster dude shouted at him over the noise, and slammed his shot, and then smiled, looking up at him through his eyelashes.

The dude's eyes got wide behind his glasses, and dark, and when Gerard wrapped his hand in the guy's cardigan (of course he was wearing a cardigan), and tilted his head towards the back of the bar, and shrugged, the guy immediately nodded yes.

It went really quickly. Gerard was on his knees in the bathroom stall, and they hurt against the filthy floor. The guy's hands were in his hair, tugging him forward to where his hard dick was already sticking out of his jeans. Gerard reached out and put his hand around it and - it was fine, it was _fine_ , but - God, fuck, he couldn't do this, he didn't want to be _doing_ this. 

He sat back, as the dude gasped out above him, "What, come on, can we just -"

Gerard shook his head. "I can't - do that," he managed.

"Fine," the guy said, looking sort of desperate. "It's fine, whatever, can you just - god, jerk me off? Please? I -"

Gerard's hand was still wrapped around the guy's dick. "I - yeah, okay." Whatever. Gerard did it, staring past the guy's hip at the wall the whole time, and when the dude groaned and came a handful of strokes later, it went all down the front of Gerard's shirt. 

Gerard felt so much more drunk when he finally stood up, wiping his hand down the side of his jeans, and running the other down his shirt, making even more of a mess than it already was.

The dude reached for him, but Gerard was fucking done with this. He wasn't even hard. He shrugged and shook his head when the guy asked for his name, and left him behind as he headed back out.

The music and darkness hit Gerard like a shot to the head when he opened the men's room door, and he stopped for a second, dizzy with it. When he cleared his eyes, he saw - of fucking course he did, and had hoped he would, because that was his whole stupid plan - Frank, just turning around from a nearby table. His eyes widened when he saw Gerard, and he raised his hand halfway in a wave, and took a step forward. 

Gerard froze there, seriously froze - he couldn't move or breathe or even fucking turn back to the men's room to puke as his stomach rolled. 

Which was of course when the guy who had just come all over him stepped out behind him, and paused for a second beside him, leaning into him and shouting, "Thanks," in his ear over the music before walking away.

Frank's eyes darted between Gerard and the guy, and he faltered and stopped. Gerard shook his arms out, let himself slouch back against the wall beside the bathroom, and lifted his chin at Frank.

Frank just watched him.

Gerard lifted one hand, wiping his thumb slowly over one corner of his mouth, going for lewd and getting there, from the look on Frank's face. Frank looked bewildered, at first, and then disgusted. Gerard could work with disgusted. It was what he wanted when he came here, right? Put this whole thing to rest, prove to himself that this thing with Frank didn't mean anything more than jerking off that hipster dude in a bathroom did.

He forced himself to stay where he was, just let his eyes roam over the club, until Frank finally turned away and left, leaving his unfinished drink on the table. 

Gerard waited for a handful of seconds before he spun around and slammed back into the men's room, skidding to his knees again in the closest stall and vomiting up whiskey and bile until his throat burned and his knees ached.

He slumped up against the side of the stall when he was done, gasping for breath, and drew his knees up, burying his face against them and trying to just breathe, ignoring the hot tears that just kept coming no matter how hard he tried to stop them.

***

"Where?" was all Mikey asked when Gerard called him, drunk, and sick, and stupid.

Gerard huddled against the wall outside, the wind biting and cold, his hands freezing as he tucked them against his sides, drawing himself in as small as he could and trying to get everyone to overlook him, leave him alone, while he counted the seconds and minutes as he tried to figure out exactly how long it would take Mikey to get there.

He lost track, finally, and just smoked cigarette after cigarette, his hand shaking as he brought it up to his mouth no matter how hard he tried to stop it. 

When Mikey finally pulled up in their parents' car, Gerard had a hard time getting the door open, and when he got in, he couldn't stop shivering long enough to explain anything. 

Mikey didn't ask, and didn't give Gerard a hard time, but his eyes were sad when he came around to help haul him out of the car, and after that, Gerard kept his eyes on the ground. 

Elena was home, awake and waiting for them, which was why, Gerard knew, Mikey hadn't said anything. He could have warned him, but the only person Mikey trusted more than Gerard was Elena. 

Mikey bumped his shoulder as he went by, and Gerard sat down weakly on the sofa, across from where Elena was sitting in a chair. "I -" he started, and then stopped, because he had nothing.

Elena just waited, sat there, taking a slow drag off her cigarette. The smoke curled up around her head, blurring her gray hair. She didn't look mad, she just _looked_ at him. Waiting.

"I'm so fucking dumb," Gerard blurted out. 

"What are you doing, Gerard?" She asked it so softly, he wasn't sure she really was looking for an answer. 

He bit his lip, shrugged, looked away. He didn't know. He didn't _know_. 

She sighed, and he bit his lip harder, feeling like he could burst into tears right here. 

"It's Frank," he managed finally. "I - liked him, but he - didn't want me. Not like that." 

"This isn't about a boy."

He sighed, smiled a little. "It kind of is."

She shook her head. "Frank can't fix things for you."

"I know." He shrugged one shoulder, laughed a little. "I know, I just -" He took a deep breath in, his throat tight, and then he was crying. Not like sobbing. Just tears running down his cheeks and his face felt so hot and tight, and he didn't, he couldn't - 

"I don't know what I'm doing. I did everything _right_ ," he said fiercely, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "I graduated from high school. I got into art school. I went to class. I got the internship. I fucking graduated. I got this job." He looked up at Elena through his tears. "I hate this job. I _hate_ this job."

She looked at him steadily. "You don't have to do this job. But you have to do _something_."

"I know, but -" Gerard looked at her, wiping his face off roughly on the sleeve of his jacket. "I can't just leave it, right? I mean. It's in my field, and it's a _good job_ and -"

"You _can_ just leave it. But you have to leave it _for_ something," Elena said firmly. "What are you going to do, Gerard? You're twenty-two. You have your whole life in front of you. What are you going to do with it?"

"Not this," he said, and was surprised at how fiercely it came out. "This is someone else's work. This isn't me. I want to make a difference."

"Then you have to _do_ it," Elena said firmly. " _You_ have to fix things." She looked at him silently for a minute, and he felt flushed and stupid. He had nothing that he _could_ do.

"You're not stupid," she said finally, softly. "You're an idiot, sometimes, but you're not stupid." She put her arm around him, and he let his head sag against her shoulder. She smelled like smoke and lavender, like she had his whole life. "Get out of your own way, Gerard," she said softly against his hair. "Get it together, okay?" 

She gave his shoulder a shake, and he nodded his head against her shoulder, trying to just breathe, and think. 

"Now." She gave him one final shake and sat up straight. "Okay. Go take a shower." She pushed his shoulder and he got slowly to his feet. 

"It's the middle of the night," he said.

"Go take a shower," she said firmly. "Clean yourself up."

"Right," he said slowly. He didn't actually know what time it was, but he wasn't really tired. He just felt wrung out. His whole body ached, and he did want to just take everything off, strip down, clean himself, make it better. 

Elena gave him a swift hug, and a stern look, and a shove in the direction of the bathroom. The house was very still, and dim, and the fluorescent light in the bathroom was bright and harsh. His face looked yellow and pale in the light, his eyes washed out and gray, his hair greasy and tangled. He let the shower get really hot before he got in and watched himself in the mirror as the room steamed up and his face disappeared into blurry shapes. 

When he got in, it was almost hot enough to burn, but it felt _good_ , like everything was being stripped away. He let it soak in, then scrubbed himself down, feeling like he was taking a layer of skin off with the grime. He washed his hair, scrubbing down to the roots, and conditioned it, too, and then just let the water run until it started to get cool. Gerard stared at the water swirling into the drain at his feet, letting the shower beat down on the back of his neck.

When he wrapped himself in his robe and made his way downstairs, it felt weird that it was still night time. He felt really awake. His room was quiet and someone - Elena, probably - had stripped his bed of the filthy sheets and left a neat pile of clean ones in the center of the mattress. Gerard remade the bed with the clean sheets, and it felt like an accomplishment. He even spread the covers over them neatly. 

He combed out his hair, and it wasn't until then, watching himself in the mirror as he worked his fingers through the knots, that he really saw his face again. The basement light was more forgiving than the bathroom, and he looked younger than he felt, which was weird, but -

Elena had said to get out of his own way.

He dug around in his closet and pulled on clean clothes - jeans that weren't stained and only a little bit torn around the knees, a t-shirt that used to be Mikey's, a clean black hoodie from the back of his closet. Dressed, showered, clean, he felt - he didn't even know how he felt. He looked around, ready for - something, but he didn't know what. Not his phone, yet, where it sat on his bedside table, face down, silenced. 

Frank wasn't going to fix things. Gerard had to fix things, and not just with Frank. With - everything. He was twenty-two and he had a college degree and no fucking future. That was bullshit. He was tired of the bullshit. 

He shrugged on his jacket and made his way up the stairs and eased out the front door, closing it silently behind him. He stood there on their porch for a minute, looking up at the sky and breathing in the night air. He lit a cigarette, the click of the lighter sounding loud in the quiet. 

He sat down, keeping his eyes up, watching as the moon slowly disappeared, the sky lightening from black to gray, like smoke, tracking the colors, watching the slow fade. 

***

"Are you sleeping?" Mikey asked him.

Gerard looked up, startled. Mikey was sitting on his bed. Gerard hadn't even heard him come down. "...I'm painting."

"I meant, in general." Mikey flipped another page in the comic he was reading, and looked up at Gerard over the top of his glasses. "Your bed has been made all week. Unless you're a pod person, or have hired a housekeeper, I'm going out on a limb and guessing you haven't been using it."

"Oh." Gerard's brain was still three-quarters focused on his painting, and he had to blink a few times to get the words together to respond. "I - yeah. I made it, though, and didn't want to fuck up the clean sheets, so I just -" He trailed off, waving at the bed.

"Sleeping on top of the covers is actually _more_ dirty than just sleeping on the sheets, you know," Mikey pointed out, but not making a move to get off the covers.

Gerard waved his hand around. "I've mostly just been napping." And he'd called in to work three days in a row, now. They weren't happy about it, but fuck, he just - he needed the _time_.

"I can tell." Mikey squinted at the painting Gerard was working on. "That's the one you started ages ago. Before you graduated, right?"

Gerard nodded. It was this take on a sculpture he'd seen ages ago, a metal structure, all lines and angles, but twisted and angled so it looked like curves, like branches, almost, reaching up for the sky. He'd started working on it, trying to reimagine it as an actual tree, anchored in the ground by metal roots, curving under and up through the ground, slowly transforming into bark and leaves as it went up toward the sky. It was probably sort of simplistic, and an overly-literal reinterpretation, but - Gerard felt like he kind of needed to be overly-literal right now. It was soothing. 

"I know. I meant to get back to it," he said, looking at the shading, trying to see how it blended. He glanced over his shoulder at Mikey. "You liked it, back then." 

Mikey nodded. "I still do." He rolled off the bed, taking the comic with him. "Keep working on it, Gee. I want to see what it's going to be."

Gerard nodded, unfocused again, and dove back in.

He didn't know how long he painted for, only that he'd lost the light in this corner of the room, from where he'd tucked the sheets back from the basement window. His back ached, and it cracked spectacularly when he stretched. His fingers felt stiff and bent from clutching the paintbrush, and he deliberately turned his easel away, trying to get some space from what he'd been doing - he didn't want to see it yet. It needed to settle, on the canvas and in his brain. 

He was exhausted, and his clock said it was six but the house was quiet - he wasn't even sure what day it was, but for the first time in a fucking long time, it wasn't because he'd been too wasted to notice. His covers were out of place, scrunched up from Mikey lying on them, and he rolled his shoulders some, trying to decide if he would be able to sleep if he lay down. 

He pushed back the covers and got in, his brain still turned on and buzzing from the painting. He wasn't going to be able to slow down enough to sleep, but fuck if he wasn't so fucking shot his eyes were burning, his vision going blurry. He lay there in the dusk and stared at his ceiling. The sheets were still crisp under him, smelling fresh, and he turned his head, resting his cheek against the smooth softness of the pillowcase for a second. 

He was okay. He was doing okay. He just needed to chill. To relax. To _not think_ , about anything. He lifted his hips a little, and yeah, he was kind of hard - art did that to him sometimes - shook him, grabbed him, got him going. Maybe that was weird. It was probably weird. 

He undid his belt and pushed his jeans down some, and fuck, yeah, okay, that was what he needed. His hand on his dick was like a kick to his system, his whole body into this, wanting it. He was going to make it quick, just go for it, hard and fast, but his hand on himself felt so good, he suddenly wanted it to be this slow, easy thing, to make it last.

He settled in against the clean sheets, his jeans against his thighs, sort of holding him there, pinning him down. He stroked his dick - Jesus, he was fucking hard as a rock, leaking into his palm, onto his stomach. 

He fumbled the lube off his bedside table, and oh God, yeah, it was even better after that, his hand slick and smooth as he made himself move it slow, so slow, up and down the length of his dick. He couldn't even keep still - his hips kept getting into it, shoving up, fucking his own hand, and God, fuck, he just - he wanted _so bad_ to just - 

He shut his eyes tight, thinking about Frank's tattoos, scattered up and down his whole body. Gerard had never gotten to fuck him, and he didn't - he wasn't going to think of that, wasn't going to think about Frank, wasn't going to, but oh God, he really just - he fucking wanted - he couldn't stop thinking of the look on Frank's face, when he was really fucking turned on, flushed and sweaty, his eyes so dark. 

Gerard's dick was so slick in his hand, and all he fucking wanted was Frank - climbing on top of him, Gerard holding his dick so Frank could just ease down. Gerard would slide all the way in, so fucking slow, even while his whole body wanted to just _fuck_. But he'd hold on, hold back, panting for air and trying like fuck not to come just from Frank hot and tight around him.

Gerard was stroking himself so fucking slowly, barely moving his hand, his whole body tense, his head twisted to the side as he panted against the pillow. He could _see_ it, Frank's body over his, skin scattered with dark lines of art, his hair falling into his face, his eyes on Gerard's as he gasped and shook and took him in.

"Fuck." Gerard ground it out without meaning to, and his hips jerked up, his jeans tight around his thighs, his dick so hard in his hand. "Fuck, _fuck_ -" He was dizzy with how bad he wanted this, trying to hold on, panting hard and hot against his own shoulder. Finally he let his hips snap up, his dick sliding slickly into his hand, thinking about Frank telling him to let go, just do it, _do it_. He would - oh Christ, oh fuck, he'd _have_ to - just fucking hold on to Frank's hips, really dig his fingers in while he fucked him hard and fast and - God, he was gonna - he was so close. He wasn't ready, he didn't want this to - 

He bit off a yell, spilling out hot over his fist, his back wrenched up, his throat hurting from holding back groans, his hips pushing up as he just kept coming. He finally collapsed back onto the bed, shaking and sweaty, his hand still around his dick, his breath coming out harsh and desperate. He took a breath, painful and shuddering, and rolled over, pressing his face against the pillow, dragging the covers over himself. 

***

"I'm not gonna call him." Gerard shoved his phone across the bed towards Mikey with his foot. Mikey had claimed the top of Gerard's bed and both of his pillows, and Gerard was curled up at the foot. It was made, again - the spread thrown across it messily, the sheets underneath sort of lumpy, but made. Gerard had a new plan, and it involved accomplishing the bed-making every day. For a while.

"Okay." Mikey was flipping through Gerard's sketchbook again, making pleased noises when he came across something he liked, and holding up the book to show Gerard.

"I'm not," Gerard said again, firmly. He wasn't. He wasn't going to call, or text, or anything like that. He'd been a dick and he needed to fix things with Frank. The phone wasn't going to help. He was going to come up with a grand gesture.

"Want me to delete his number?" Mikey had Gerard's phone in his hand, thumb poised.

"No!" Gerard scrambled up the bed to snatch his phone out of Mikey's hand. "No, you jerk." Gerard cradled the phone to his chest. "I need it for when he forgives me."

"How is he going to forgive you if you don't _call_ him?" Mikey pointedly turned another page in the sketchbook. "Oh, dude, awesome set of skulls."

Gerard glanced at the page. "Right? Thanks." He gnawed on his thumbnail.

Mikey looked up at Gerard. "You want to go to a gig? See his band again? Declare your love while he's onstage?" He paused, thought about it. "You might look like a groupie, though." 

"Ugh." Gerard chewed on his nail some more.

"But you kind of _would_ be a groupie, wouldn't you? If you did that? So it would be in character," Mikey pointed out.

"You're not helping." Gerard curled up next to Mikey on the bed, shoving his pillow over to soften Mikey's bony hip. "At all."

"They've got a gig in Trenton on Thursday." 

Of course Mikey knew that off the top of his head. 

Gerard shook his head. "I don't want to do it at a club. And not while he's working." It seemed like a dick move. Gerard was tired of dick moves.

"So if you're not gonna call, and you're not gonna just show up, what's your plan?" Mikey looked up, holding his place in the sketchbook with one finger. His glasses had slid down and his hair was completely insane, a rat's nest over his face. 

Gerard looked at him hopefully. "Can you find out where he lives?"

Mikey frowned. "Does that count as aiding and abetting a stalker?"

"I'm not _stalking_ ," Gerard protested. "I need it for when I apologize."

"Still." Mikey looked at Gerard. "Just showing up at his place when he didn't tell you where he lives, it's kind of -"

"Endearing," Gerard said firmly.

"Creepy," Mikey finished. He looked down at Gerard. "Yeah. I can get you his address."

"Thanks, Mikey." Gerard stayed where he was, with his head on Mikey's hip, and strained his eyes to look at the sketchbook as Mikey kept flipping through it. Frank was there as a vampire, too, and as a rock star, screaming into a mic, and as a boyfriend, curled up on Gerard's bed with him. Gerard worried that it was really obvious, but Mikey didn't say anything, so that was okay.

***

It had been three months since Gerard had quit his job, and Christmas was coming. 

He'd spent the summer working, and painting, and feeling sorry for himself. It wasn't a bad combination, actually - he got some pretty decent art out of it. It wasn't enough to make him feel much, though. He'd still been fucking drifting through life.

But some things were big enough to shake you out of almost anything, and after what happened in September, after seeing the fucking towers fall right in front of him - so much worse than the scariest of movies - after seeing that happen, it was like something inside of him woke the fuck up.

"It's just not for me," he’d said steadily to his boss, when he’d finally quit. "I'm taking the spot from someone who would really get something out of this." He believed it, too.

He was pretty much flat broke, but he felt like he could breathe for the first time since - forever, it felt like. Things were better, kind of. He still lived at home, and he still didn't know what the fuck he was doing, not really, but it was like everything in his brain that had been holding him back didn't matter anymore, and if there was any time in the world to start thinking outside the motherfucking box, it was now.

It had been September 20th when he'd picked up the phone and called Ray, who he hadn't spoken to in - way too long. He knew from Mikey that Ray was still in the music scene, and Gerard had just wanted to talk to him about an idea, but life happened so quickly sometimes, and somehow, they were suddenly kind of a band. He had his buddy Matt on drums, and Mikey was learning bass, and Ray fucking Toro was a killer on guitar, Jesus Christ, who knew, and - fuck. Gerard could sing, he'd known he could sing, it just never felt like it should be his thing.

Apparently it was his thing. It sort of came out of nowhere, but the day he walked out of his office job, it was like a weight lifted off of his shoulders. Trying to do this crazy thing, trying to start a band, was the first thing that had felt _right_ , that had felt _real_ since - well, since Frank. 

Now, only a few months later, he felt _hopeful_ for the first time since he could fucking remember. 

He'd needed to figure things out with his own life before even thinking of trying to fit a relationship into it. But after all this time, his heart still flipped over whenever he thought about Frank. Which was maybe kind of a lot. 

Which was why he was currently freezing his ass off on Frank's front porch, freaking out a little on the inside. He had so much riding on this. His life was better than it had been, it was _good_ , but he was still lonely. He still wanted someone. He still wanted _Frank_.

Frank lived with his mom. Either that, or he was doing well enough as a nineteen year old (maybe twenty, by now) frontman in a tiny band to afford a single family in Belleville. Gerard felt like an idiot - he didn't even know if Frank was home, he hadn't talked to him since, oh, he puked in front of him back in the spring and hadn't seen him since the night he'd blown a guy whose name he didn't even know and then thrown it in Frank's face.

He just stood there, taking in deep breaths of the frigid air. Fuck. He hadn't seen or talked to Frank in _months_ , and now he was here, in front of Frank's door, and he was _terrified_. Fuck. _Fuck_. 

There was a doorbell to ring. Gerard hated doorbells. You never knew if it went off inside, or if you should ring it again, and when, or if maybe you should knock, too, in case it wasn't working, and just - the door swung open in front of him, and he almost choked. 

It was Frank, thank fuck, and not his mom or something scarier, like a dad or, God, a boyfriend.

"Hi, I -" Gerard stopped. "How did you even know -" Had Frank been _watching_ him bite his nails on the porch or something?

"We have dogs," Frank said flatly, and oh yeah, there were two of them, squirming around Frank's legs, yipping pretty loudly. "They've been barking for, you know, a while now."

Frank was in pajama pants and an inside-out black t-shirt, and his hair was grown out - it was dark now, and not long, but not a fauxhawk anymore, either. It made him look sort of - grown-up. His hair was also shoved up in the back, like he'd been in bed, and Gerard's face flushed. He felt like he'd interrupted something intimate. "I -" he said, and took a step back, half-pivoting to go without ever having made any decision to do so. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, because that was the only thing in his head. 

"For what?" Frank said, sharp and quick, like he'd been waiting for this, as if Gerard showing up on his doorstep was something he'd thought might happen. But his face was tight and closed-off, and Gerard couldn't meet his eyes. 

"I just -" Gerard kept looking down. Frank's pajama pants were too long for him. They hung down over his bare feet, and were ratty around the ankles. "I hadn't talked to you, and - " He looked up and Frank was looking back at him, steady. Gerard swallowed and tried again. "I think it was just a misunderstanding -"

"Was it?" Frank just stood there in the doorway with his eyes flashing, his arms across his chest, fists clenched. "Did I misunderstand you sucking that guy off in the bathroom?"

"I -" Gerard opened and closed his mouth, and took a step backwards. 

"Because I'm not sure how you meant that, I guess," Frank snapped. "I guess I shouldn't care, it's not like we were _dating_ or anything -" He made air quotes around dating, and Gerard's heart sort of broke. "But I'm pretty sure that holding your hair while you get sick means _something_." He stopped and took a deep breath. "Or at least it did to me. But that was a long time ago."

Gerard took another step back, and Frank reached out, and grabbed his arm. 

"No," Frank said firmly. "No, you don't get to run. I asked you a fucking question."

"I don't -" Gerard said faintly, because his heart was too busy falling to pieces, and he could _feel_ it, and it _hurt_ , and he didn't remember the fucking question.

"What are you sorry for?" Frank bit off each word, and he was breathing hard, his chest heaving under his stupid inside-out t-shirt, and he looked so fierce, even though the pajama pants he was wearing had stupid Mickey Mouse heads all over them.

"For fucking up," Gerard said. It took all his energy to get it out. The words felt heavy in his mouth, but he said them anyway. "For fucking this up. I know you don't know me. I know you don't care. I know, okay? I know we weren't even anything, I just -" Gerard took a deep breath, and held it, because he knew if he let it out too soon, he was going to be crying, and he hadn't come to Frank's porch to cry. "I'm sorry," he said, finally, carefully, not blinking his eyes, and making himself look up, look near Frank's face, even though he couldn't bring it into focus. "I'm sorry for not talking to you before -" He stopped, took a breath. "Before going there to find some guy to hook up with. To - get back at you."

Frank took a breath, looking _livid_. 

"For something you never did," Gerard finished quickly. "For a whole scenario I played out in my head, and I thought -"

Frank's cheeks were all red, but his fingers had maybe unclenched, Gerard thought. "I called you," Frank said. "I called you, and you never called me back."

"I know." Gerard didn't front. "I didn't listen to my messages, but - I know. I thought - I think I thought you were - that this was just you - I don't know." He scrubbed a hand through his hair, yanking on it a little, trying to get his thoughts back in line. "That I was an easy hook-up." He looked up, and Frank looked mad again. 

"You always _left_ ," Gerard said sharply, before he could pull the words back. "You never even left a _note_."

Frank opened his mouth, then frowned. "I didn't -"

"I would wake up and you would be _gone_." Gerard couldn't stop now that he had gotten going. "And I'd just have to wait for the next time you wanted to booty-call me!"

Frank was still frowning, but he didn't look mad anymore, exactly. Gerard didn't care. Gerard was sweaty and breathless, and now _he_ was pissed off. 

"I didn't mean to," Frank said finally. "I mean, I didn't realize it. I just." He stopped, waving his hands around a little like he was frustrated. "People have cell phones! They don't leave notes! It's the twenty-first century!" 

Gerard crossed his arms over his chest. "You always left," he said, again. " _Always_."

"I know, I -" Frank stopped, sighed. "If I don't go to church with my mom Sunday mornings, I don't get to go to band practice that night." His cheeks went red. "That's the deal, and because I don't make enough money to even pay her _rent_ , I gotta do it." He lifted his chin. "That's why I had to take off that first time."

"The other time you left was a Friday," Gerard pointed out hotly. 

"I told you I had to go!" Frank snapped. "We talked about it and I told you I had to go early!"

"You didn't," Gerard said angrily. "We didn't. _When_?"

"After you were sick! I got you to bed! I fucking cuddled with you and I _told_ you!"

"I was _puking drunk_ ," Gerard said. "Why would you think I would _remember_ that? This is why people leave notes!"

"We had a whole conversation about time travel after!" Frank yelled. "I figured if you could say 'flux capacitor' without slurring that you had _sobered up_ or something!"

Gerard made a wild gesture with his hands. "I can always say flux capacitor, you asshole! That doesn't mean anything!"

"I'm _sorry_ , okay?" Frank shouted. 

They both stood in the silence that descended, breathing angrily at each other and glaring.

Frank finally shook his head. "I'm sorry," he repeated, quieter. "I didn't - I didn't think about it. I didn't know it was a _thing_." He took a deep breath. "You could have called me, you know," he said finally. "If you were that worried about it. I would have - I could have explained."

"I know I could have called you." Gerard sighed, and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. "Jesus, I know that, but I was _fucked up_ , okay? You saw me. You know that I was. And I -"

What. He what? Gerard's brain was fucking whirling in his skull. He made himself take a deep breath, and then another one. 

"That night," Gerard said finally. "When you saw me coming out of -" Ugh. God. He took another breath. "When you saw me come out of the bathroom at the club. You had called me, but - after what happened, why would you fucking call me? Why would you want me? That didn't make any fucking sense to me, at the time. So if you thought I was just, I don't know, a sure thing, then I just figured - I'd be exactly what you thought I was," he finished miserably, out of breath. 

Frank opened and closed his mouth and then finally asked, "After _what_ happened?" He looked honestly bewildered. "Back up, okay? Step at a time."

"I was drunk, and stupid," Gerard said. 

"Welcome to the fucking club," Frank responded. His hand was still on Gerard's arm, but his grip was less tight, more just holding on.

"I puked," Gerard said.

"I held your hair," Frank said.

"I'm an idiot," Gerard pointed out.

"My _point_ ," Frank said, and shook his arm. "You are not the first person to puke on me."

"Oh God." Gerard was going to go home and hide under his bed as soon as Frank let go of his arm. "I did what?"

"Only a little." Frank was holding onto his arm tighter again, like he knew Gerard was gearing himself up to run. 

"Oh _God_." Gerard used his other hand to hide his face. "Oh God. Oh God. So I'm sorry for that, too. I'm going to go hide under my bed. Forever."

"It was only a _little_." Frank's voice sounded like he was going for stern, but he was giggling a tiny bit, too, which - maybe wasn't a bad thing. Gerard peeked out at him from behind his fingers. "Seriously, that was the big deal?"

"It was a symbol," Gerard mumbled, staring at Frank through his fingers. "Of how I don't deserve you."

"Well." Frank tugged on Gerard's arm, and Gerard took two stumbling steps forward. "You don't _have_ me."

Gerard dropped his hand from in front of his face. "Wow," he said, staring. "That was just - mean."

Frank was really laughing now, but - it didn't sound like it was _at_ Gerard. "I didn't mean it like that, I just - " He dragged Gerard forward, and now Gerard was actually inside Frank's house, and Frank shut the door behind him, pausing to look at him before throwing the lock, deliberately. "I just mean that you never gave me a goddamn _chance_."

"I know." Gerard swallowed miserably, and his hand reached out behind him for the doorknob before he could stop himself. 

"Oh my _God_ ," Frank said, and grabbed his hand, hanging on to it.

Gerard blinked. Frank's hand was tight around his, and sweaty, and his fingers were pressing against Gerard's palm like he meant to hang on for a while. "I'm not very good at this," Gerard confessed, looking at Frank. 

"Shocking," Frank said. "You hide it so well." He grinned, for a second, then sighed, and frowned. Gerard's heart did this weird twisty thing inside his chest. "Can we take a step back, again?" 

"To where?" Gerard asked nervously. 

"The porch," Frank said, then waved at Gerard impatiently. "I'm kidding, jeez. Just - listen."

Gerard listened. 

"Hi," Frank said, leaning in close to Gerard's ear, the way he had that first night at the club. "I'm Frank, and you're adorable."

"...was _that_ your pick-up line?" Gerard said. "Oh man. I - may have go."

"Shut the fuck up," Frank said, grinning widely. "Like you've got a better one."

"I'm Gerard," Gerard said instantly. "And I probably won't puke on you tonight."

Frank laughed again, and kept holding his hand. "Well played." He squeezed Gerard's hand. "I'm in."

***

Frank made them coffee, and didn't let Gerard go home. He made Gerard help - he pointed to where the coffee cups were, and the sugar, and Gerard set it all up dutifully, tripping over the dogs who were constantly underfoot. 

When Frank's mom came in to the kitchen, Frank introduced Gerard to her like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

"You the boy?" Frank's mom said. Frank's mom had a smoker's voice and skin like leather, and she reminded Gerard of his own mom. He liked her right away. 

"I don't know," he said honestly. His stomach gave a little flip, though - was he? Had Frank been talking about him? 

" _Mom_ , oh my God," Frank said over him, rolling his eyes. "Shut _up_."

" _You_ shut up," she said back, as Frank scooped up the two cups of coffee, pushing one into Gerard's hand, and dropping a quick kiss to his mom's cheek. "Play nice down there."

"I always do," Frank said, and his mom aimed a swat at him as he nudged Gerard ahead of him down the basement steps. 

They drank coffee, sitting on the floor with their backs against Frank's bed. Frank's room was neater than Gerard's, but was still a teenager's bedroom, like Gerard's. It was quiet down there, and it felt sort of removed and safe, and Gerard didn't remember them ever getting to be together in the quiet before, not really. Everything from nine months ago felt like noisy clubs, dirty bathrooms, and hazy, fucked-up sex. 

"I quit my job." Gerard started with that, quietly.

Frank nodded, and sipped his coffee. His knees were pulled up in front of him, and Gerard focused on that as he spoke, on the worn Mickey Mouse print pulled tight over Frank's knees. He took a breath. "I quit my job," he said again, "I spent a while figuring things out." He glanced up at Frank's face. "I didn't do very much, just - stopped, for a while. Stayed in, thinking about things. Drawing. I - can't remember if I told you I drew." 

"You talked about it, a little," Frank said. "I could tell, from the stuff all around your room." He took another sip of coffee. "I might have looked at a sketchbook a little, one of the mornings."

Gerard jerked his head up, stared at him.

"It was open!" Frank said defensively. "It was lying open, and - that stuff was good. It caught my eye. Fucked up, maybe, but really good."

Gerard closed his eyes. "I gotta start keeping my room neater."

Frank laughed, and when Gerard opened his eyes again, he was still grinning. "I don't think you would be you without the clutter."

"Probably not." Gerard realized his own coffee was cooling, forgotten, in his hands, and took a gulp. 

"So you draw," Frank said, leaning back, his face open and listening. "Is that what you're doing now? Like, for work?"

"No, that's what I was doing before, at Cartoon Network." Gerard looked at Frank. "Right now, I'm starting a band."

"Wait, you're - what?"

"Starting a band," Gerard said again. "I know, it's weird."

"You worked for _Cartoon Network_?" Frank put his coffee cup down carefully. "Wait, I just - okay." He took a breath. "We've gotta get to know each other, dude." 

"I know!" Gerard put his coffee down, too. "That was kind of the point! I wasn't who I am, you know? I mean. I was, and I wasn't, and - I never told anyone anything, and -" He stopped, took a breath. "It's complicated. And confusing. I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay, I'm catching up," Frank said, grinning. "Okay, so drawing. But not for Cartoon Network"

"Not anymore." Gerard watched Frank carefully. He looked kind of overwhelmed, still.

"Okay. And - starting a band?" Frank looked _really_ confused now. "Where did that even come from?"

"I always - I mean -" Gerard stopped, grimaced. He'd been so fucking stuck. He hadn't talked about _anything_. "Mikey and I always thought we would. We tried, a couple of times, you know, kid stuff." He looked at Frank again. "Mikey knows your band. He thinks you guys are good."

Frank was still staring at him.

"Mikey's my brother," Gerard said.

"I know Mikey's your brother, dude. You talk about him all the time. And I ran into him, once, on my way out."

"I think I knew that," Gerard murmured. He felt sometimes that he'd forgotten more than he remembered. "I'm sorry, I was just - I was a fucking mess. I still am, probably." Kind of. "But - I'm getting it together."

"I - good." Frank ran his hand through his hair. It was pretty long. Gerard wanted to put his face in it. "Good," Frank said again. "I think I maybe just found out more about you in twenty minutes than I did in two months."

"Is that -" Gerard stopped, swallowed. His hands felt empty and he scooped up his cup of cooling coffee again. "Is that okay? Is this -?"

"It's good, Gerard." Frank slid sideways against the bed, leaned his shoulder against Gerard. "Keep talking."

Gerard talked himself hoarse, and Frank listened. After a while, Frank started asking him questions - about his band, and what they were doing, and what Gerard's plan was. And for once, Gerard actually _had_ a kind of plan, and the relief that unfurled in his stomach as he explained it to Frank was palpable. 

"It's not perfect," Gerard said. "But we have a couple of gigs, because Ray's been doing music for ages. He knows people. We're advertising - I'm doing the art for the flyers," he said, feeling weirdly shy about telling Frank that. "And - we'll see." 

Frank nodded. "It's a start," he says. "It's a good start."

"How did you get going?" Gerard asked. "I know we talked about it a little, but - Mikey says Pencey's still doing really well, and I just - how is it going?"

Frank sat up a little bit, his eyes bright. "We're good," he says. "It's slow going, but - we have actual fans, you know? Which is _crazy_. And we've been practicing non-stop, and my mom's not on my ass as much, because it's really _something_ , now."

Gerard shifted a little closer and listened as Frank told him more about Pencey. Frank's eyes were lit up, and Gerard could listen to him talk forever. 

They climbed up on the bed after a while, when their asses got numb from sitting, and curled up there, quiet. It was late, and Gerard was exhausted.

The room was dim, and Frank was blinking at him sleepily. "I like you," he said finally. "I liked you from the first time I saw you, when you were pretty messed up, but -" He stopped, studied Gerard. "I like you more now."

"Me too," Gerard said honestly. "I like me better now. And I like you. But you know that."

"Tell me anyway," Frank said quietly, tugging Gerard closer.

Gerard went easily, letting Frank pull him down right beside him on the bed, curling up close together. "I like you," Gerard said softly, looking in Frank's eyes. "Frankie, I like you a lot."

Frank smiled, and kissed him, soft and sweet and sleepy. "C'mere," he said finally, tugging the cover up over them both. 

Gerard settled in, feeling warm for the first time in months.

***

Frank fucked him for the first time at some dark hour of the morning, when they both woke up, hard and hot and wanting it. It was quiet, slow and sleepy, and Gerard felt almost drunk with it, felt lost in it. He murmured to Frank, telling him what to do, how to get him ready, and almost lost himself lost in Frank rocking his fingers into him from behind.

"Ready," he finally said, his voice coming out breathless and raw. "Frank, I want - fuck, are you ready? Is this -"

"Yeah." Frank slipped up behind him, his voice a little shaky, but he slid his hand, soft and warm, holding him in place as he pushed in, slow, slow, steady, but slow. Gerard heard Frank's panting breaths, his fingers tight on his hips as he moved forward. 

Frank sank right down after he was all the way in, up against Gerard with his whole body, not even so much fucking him as rocking into him, again and again, his breath hitching in. 

Gerard felt it through his whole body, his head buzzing, his fingertips tingling. He dug his face into his pillow, because he couldn't stop moaning.

Frank was panting against Gerard's neck, his chest sweaty against Gerard's back, as he rocked into him. "Jesus Christ," he ground out, soft, almost silent. "Jesus, Gerard, fuck, I just -" He rocked forward again, hard, and they both groaned. "I just want - fuck, _fuck_." Gerard felt him look for purchase with his feet against the sheets, and he went in deep, deep. "I had _no idea_ -" He groaned, his mouth against Gerard's shoulder. "Gerard. _Fuck_."

Gerard clutched at the sheets, panting for breath and feeling like he was going to _cry_ for some fucked-up reason just by the way Frank was saying his _name_. It just sounded so fucking _good_ , it was everything he fucking wanted. 

Frank bit his shoulder, just a little, digging his teeth in and breathing out moans around it. Gerard pushed his face against the pillow, shutting his eyes tight, just breathing through it. Frank was still talking, his voice breaking, cursing and saying Gerard's name and sounding like he was _dying_ , and it was everything Gerard could do to just keep panting for air. 

When Frank came, he stayed there, deep in Gerard, for a long time. His breath was damp against the side of Gerard's face, and Gerard was shuddering underneath him, desperately hard. "Fuck," he slurred against the bed. "Fuck, Frank, please, _please_ -"

"C'mere." Frank pulled out, and Gerard moaned, rolling over, reaching for his dick. 

Frank got there first, wrapping his hand around it and going right down. "I'm not," Gerard gasped as Frank sucked him in, going down so deep that Gerard could hardly talk. "I'm not gonna -" Oh God, he was so close. "Fuck, Frank, I -" He clutched Frank's hair, so close, so close, fuck, this wasn’t going to take anything at all, _fuck_. He came hard, shaking and probably yanking on Frank's hair, but Frank just moaned around him and stayed down there, letting Gerard come down his throat, his hand clutching Gerard's hip tightly. 

Frank curled up next to him afterward, and Gerard couldn't even move. He was fucked out, limp, _gone_ , but he was buzzing under his skin. He felt _lit up_ by it, which was really fucking dumb, but he couldn't even really get his brain around how _good_ he felt. 

Frank was quiet, too, and tugged the covers up over the both of them. He lit a cigarette, and Gerard listened to him take a long, slow inhale, before rolling onto his side under the covers. Frank looked down at him, and handed over the smoke.

Gerard took it gratefully, and watched Frank as he smoked. Frank looked young, younger than before, like not even close to twenty, like he was still the high school kid that he had been not that very long ago. His hair stood up at weird angles in the back, and naked, here, no front of clothes and scowl and attitude, Gerard couldn't figure out why he had ever been scared to trust him.

Frank took the cigarette out of his hand - it was almost down to the filter - and stubbed it out, before sliding back down in the bed. They were curled up facing each other, knees bumping together, like this was a sleepover. "It's late," Gerard finally whispered in the darkness under the blankets.

"Four AM." Frank's voice sounded slow and sleepy. Gerard could barely see his eyes in the darkness, even though Frank was very close. 

"We should sleep," Gerard said. His heart was still beating way too hard and fast, and Frank smelled like sweat and cigarettes, and Gerard just wanted to taste him.

"Soon," Frank said, and inched closer, tugging the covers up further over them. "Kiss me," he said when he was close enough, and it was an echo of what Gerard had been rolling around in his brain. 

"Yeah," he breathed out, inching closer. He put his hand on Frank's cheek, feeling stubble under his fingers, and kissed him.

Frank made a sound in his throat, and his hand was curling warm around Gerard's side, tugging him closer. "Kiss me," he said again, against Gerard's lips, and Gerard slid his tongue into Frank's mouth.

Frank curled up around him, kissing him slow and soft in the dark closeness under the covers.

***

Pencey Prep took the stage at ten o'clock on Thursday night at Maxwell's. Gerard was backstage in the lead-up, and Frank pulled him behind a stack of crates and kissed him, hard and breathless, until a voice yelled across the backstage area, "Pencey, you're on in ten!"

"Oh God." Frank pulled back. "Okay. You gotta go. I might puke."

"No shame in that," Gerard said, and Frank grinned, and shoved at him, but his mouth was tight, the corners of it white with tension. Gerard squeezed his hand tight, and said, "See you out there," and hurried out to the floor. 

He shoved himself to the front of the crowd - full house now, after two openers, and it wasn't easy, but Gerard didn't hold back with his elbows _or_ his feet. He got a spot for himself right up front, just off-center from Frank's mic, and stationed himself, elbows out, feet planted, head up. 

When the lights went down and a cheer went up, Gerard felt it in his fucking bones, in his whole fucking body. The band came out, and Frank was last on stage, tiny and compact and brutal and everything Gerard wanted in his entire fucking life. 

"Let me hear you fuckers _scream_ ," he commanded into the mic, and spun around, the tiny, fierce whirlwind that owned Gerard's heart. "Go!" he screamed, over the yells, at his band, at the crowd, at Gerard, and everything in Gerard swelled up and overflowed, and he let himself surge forward with the crowd, arms up, heart open, screaming just as Frank fucking commanded. 

"We're Pencey Prep," Frank screamed into the mic. "And you're gonna fucking remember us!" 

Gerard felt the pulse of the crowd behind him, and saw Frank grin down at him as he spun into "Nineteen" and knew Frank was right.

_Everyone_ was going to fucking remember this.

the end


End file.
